“A monarchy! a monarchy! nothing but the one-man power will ever do anything for this miserable multitude of Indians, negroes, and rebellion-making Spanish aristocrats. Royalty is our only resource, and I am nearly ready to strike the required blow. I think that Don Maria Paredes would make as good an emperor as Augustin de Yturbide, and he will wear the crown of Mexico somewhat longer. But I must look out for Santa Anna. If he were to return from Cuba too soon, there would be nothing left for me but to have him shot as soon as he came ashore. Or else he might have me shot not many days afterward. His emissaries and spies are all the while working against me, but I shall catch some of them. Oh, how I would like to get hold of that venomous conspirator, Zuroaga!”

The President and practically the dictator of the nominal republic of Mexico was standing in his own luxurious chamber of the government palace in the city of Mexico. He was in the full uniform of a general officer, for he was preparing to ride out and attend a review of a division of the really large army which he had gathered to move against the American invaders at the north. He deemed himself favored by fortune, for all things had thus far appeared to operate in the direction of his high ambition. He was in possession of undisputed power, and his time for making his supremacy permanent had arrived. It was the morning of the 4th of August, 1846, and it promised to be a splendid day for a parade. He had eloquently appealed to all the patriotism in the land, and he had used his last dollar in raising the troops who were to win his victories and place him firmly upon the throne of Anahuac, the lost throne of the Montezumas. A large part of his forces had already marched, and he was now to follow with the remainder. It was high time that he should do so, for General Taylor’s army was daily drawing nearer the Mexican lines at the city of Monterey. Not many minutes later, he rode away from the palace, attended by a brilliant staff, through crowded streets, where every hat went off and all the voices shouted “Viva Paredes” with every appearance of enthusiasm.

That morning Ned Crawford had not felt like going out of the city to see any review. Days had passed since the departure of General Zuroaga, but Ned’s head was full of what his friend had said to him, and he did not care much in what direction his feet might take him. So, having all that responsibility to themselves, they carried him on across the city until, when he looked around him, he saw that he had almost reached the front gate of the out-of-date fort, which was known as “the citadel.” It always contained a large garrison, not by any means for the defence of the capital from external foes, but for the protection of whatever might be the “government” for the time being from any sudden tumult or attempted revolution. There were officers and a squad of soldiers standing a few paces out in front of the wide-open military portal, and they all were gazing intently in the same direction. Ned also turned to look, but all that he could see was a solitary rider, upon what seemed to be an all but exhausted horse, urging the panting animal toward the citadel.

“Colonel Guerra!” exclaimed Ned. “What has brought him all the way from Vera Cruz? Has our army come? Is the city taken?”

Nothing of that kind had yet occurred, but there was a reason for the arrival of the trusted commander of the important fortress on the sea. Ned was very near him when the horse fell, and his rider sprang to the earth, covered with dust and evidently in great excitement. The officers at the gate rushed forward toward him, and one of them loudly demanded:

“Colonel Guerra! What is it? Has he come? All is ready here!”

Guerra himself had not fallen with his horse. Off came his hat and his sword flashed from the sheath, while his voice rang out clearly, fiercely:

“Viva Santa Anna! The entire force at Vera Cruz and the garrison of San Juan de Ulua have pronounced for him. He is now on his way home from Havana. We shall soon have with us the one hero who can save us from the American invaders and from the tyranny of King Paredes!”

Possibly, this had been the day calculated upon for the arrival of precisely such tidings. It might even have been that all these officers and soldiers were gathered there, prepared both to hear and to act, while President Paredes should be temporarily absent from the city. At all events, they were swinging their hats, drawing their swords, and their enthusiastic acclamations for the returning general were at once followed by a rush back into the citadel and a hasty closing of its gates. When that was done, and when the rest of the garrison had joined in “pronouncing” for Santa Anna, the military control of the Mexican capital had passed out of the hands of President Paredes.

It was startling news, therefore, which was brought out to him by a friendly messenger, as he rode so proudly on in front of his shouting soldiery, believing that they were all his own and ready to do his bidding. The grand review ended instantaneously, and he came galloping back in all haste to look out for his tumbling crown. He came with his brilliant staff and a mixed crowd of friends and unfriends, only to discover that crown and throne and scepter had disappeared like the changing figures in a kaleidoscope. He could not even order anybody to be arrested and shot, for the Vice-President, General Bravo, and all the members of the national Congress, then in session, were thoughtfully saying to themselves, if not to each other:

“Santa Anna is coming! The seacoast forces are already his. He will be right here in a few days. We must be careful what we say or do just now. We do not even know what these new troops will say to this thing.”

They were not to remain long in ignorance upon that point. As the news went out from regiment to regiment that afternoon, the undisciplined, ragged mobs of raw recruits began to shout for Santa Anna. Perhaps many of them had previously served under the one-legged veteran of the old French and Texan wars and at least half a dozen revolutions.

Ned Crawford turned and hurried homeward, as soon as he felt sure that his head was still upon his shoulders and that he had heard his remarkable news correctly. His eyes were busy, too, and he heard what men were saying to each other. Excited shouts were carrying the errand of Colonel Guerra swiftly over the city, and everywhere it was discovering hearers as ready for it as had been the officers at the gate. He may have been looking a little pale when he entered the parlor of the Paez mansion, for SeÑora Paez at once arose and came to meet him, inquiring, anxiously:

“SeÑor Carfora, what is the matter? Has anything happened?”

“Santa Anna—” began Ned, but she stepped quickly forward and put her hand upon his mouth, whispering sharply:

“Speak lower! we do not know who may hear you. What is it?”

She took away her hand, and Ned also whispered, as he hurriedly told her what he had seen and heard at the citadel. As he did so, her face and that of SeÑora Tassara, standing by her, grew much paler than his own.

“My dear Mercedes,” said SeÑora Tassara to her cousin, “this is all as my husband and General Zuroaga predicted. But the tiger is not here yet, and by the time he arrives they will be beyond his reach. It takes some days to travel from Vera Cruz to the city of Mexico. SeÑor Carfora, you are in no danger. Neither are we.”

“No!” angrily exclaimed SeÑora Paez. “Not for to-day nor to-morrow, perhaps, but down goes the Paredes monarchy! Ah, me! There is a terrible time coming for poor Mexico. Who shall tell what the end of it all will be!”

“Nobody!” said SeÑora Tassara, sadly, but Felicia whispered to Ned:

“SeÑor Carfora, the gringos could not do us much harm if their army had a revolution springing up behind it at home. I wish they had one.”

“I don’t,” replied Ned. “If we did have one, though, it would be bigger than this is. I don’t believe we have any Santa Annas to make one, anyhow. There isn’t a man in all America that would think of being king. I guess that if we found one we’d hang him.”

“Well,” said Felicia, “President Paredes would like to hang a great many people, or shoot them, but I hope he can’t. What are you going to do?”

“He does not know, dear,” interposed her mother. “We must stop talking about this thing now. Some of our friends are coming in. It is better to let them tell us what has happened, just as if we had not heard it at all. Be very careful what you say.”

Perhaps everybody in the Paez mansion was accustomed to that kind of caution, and when a number of excited women neighbors poured into the parlor to bring the great tidings and discuss the situation, they found no one in it who was to be surprised into saying a word which might not have been heard without offence by the friends of either Paredes or Santa Anna.

Great changes in public affairs may produce changes in the plans of individuals, and it was not remarkable if General Zuroaga’s intended week of absence should be somewhat shortened. It may have ended at the moment when the garrison of the citadel “pronounced” in favor of the tyrant in exile and against the tyrant in nominal power. Ned, however, had a small surprise waiting for him. It actually arrived not a great while after luncheon, when he was feeling as if he would like to sit down by himself and think over this very curious piece of political business. He went up into the library, as the safest kind of thinking-place, and, hardly had he opened the door, before he discovered that it had another tenant besides the man in armor in the corner.

“General Zuroaga!” he exclaimed, in astonishment.

“Not quite so loud, please,” quietly responded the general. “Yes, Carfora, here I am. Here I must hide, too, for a few hours. The camp is no longer a safe place for me, even in the disguise I was wearing. There is really nothing more to keep me there now. I do not need to run any further risks on account of Paredes and his tin monarchy. He is already utterly ruined. I must get out of the reach of Santa Anna’s lieutenants, however, if I do not wish to be locked up. You and I can slip away all the more easily while this tumult is going on, and by noon to-morrow we may be well out on the road to Oaxaca. Will you be ready?”

“It’s just what I was wishing for!” exclaimed Ned. “I know enough to see that it isn’t a good thing for SeÑora Paez to have me in the house. She has troubles enough of her own. So has SeÑora Tassara. If an enemy of theirs found that they had a gringo here, it would make things worse for them. They’ve been real good to me, but I want to go with you.”

“Right!” said the general. “And there will be sharp eyes on the watch while Santa Anna’s friends are getting ready for his arrival. He may appear to come peaceably, but do I not know him? He never yet forgot or forgave an enemy. He will come back to settle up all old accounts.”

“Well,” said Ned, “we need not be here to be shot at. I packed up, all ready, days ago. But, general, I guess I can ride better than I did the other time. I don’t need to have so fat a pony.”

“My dear fellow,” replied the general, soberly, “you will be mounted on a horse that can make a swift run, if necessary. I am glad that you will know what to do with him.”

In other things than horsemanship, Ned had made wonderful advances since he came ashore out of the norther, in the Bay of Vera Cruz. It was as if he had grown a number of years older in becoming so much more experienced. Moreover, he knew so much already about the plots and counterplots which were going on that it was of little use to keep some things from him. He was, in fact, almost full-grown as a Mexican conspirator, and he was sure to do whatever he could against either a monarchy under Paredes or a dictatorship under Santa Anna. It was a full hour later when they were joined by SeÑora Paez. She came on a special errand, for almost her first remark was:

“General, there will be danger from robbers of all sorts. I shall not dare to keep a great deal of money in the house. I have not much, either, that I can spare for yourself, but you must take this and spend it to beat them. What’s more, I want you to take my jewels with you and hide them somewhere in the mountains. SeÑora Tassara’s are already in a safe place. I hope SeÑor Carfora has enough.”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Ned. “I have hardly spent anything, and Captain Kemp gave me another hundred, from father. I almost wish it were all in bank-bills, though, for gold and silver are heavy things to carry.”

“Well, as to that,” laughed the general, “I do not know what kind of paper money we could make in Mexico, just now. That sort of thing will do only under a pretty solid government. But then, a dollar will go further in this country than it will in the United States. It looks as if horses were worth only five dollars a head, and men about half as much. There are too many that seem ready to sell themselves for nothing.”

He said that wearily and sadly, for he was at heart a true patriot and he believed himself to be doing his best to bring a better state of things out of all this anarchy and confusion.

SeÑora Paez left the room. Ned and the general lay down on the floor to sleep for awhile, and it was just when the first dim light of dawn was beginning to creep in at the narrow window that Pablo came to awaken them. He put his finger on his lip as he did so, and they understood that there might be danger close at hand. It was not until they were out of the house, however, leaving it silently by way of the back door, that he ventured to whisper:

“General, there is a guard already stationed in front. President Paredes is making his last effort to stop his downfall, and he has heard that you are in the city. All your friends will be closely watched, to-day.”

“I wanted to say good-by to them,” began Ned, but here they were.

“General, this is the jewel case,” said SeÑora Paez, as she handed him a small rosewood box. “Here is the money. Now, SeÑor Carfora, be a brave fellow. Learn all you can of our poor country. I hope to see you again.”

SeÑora Tassara was saying something in a very low voice to Zuroaga, when Felicia turned to Ned and said to him:

“You are a wicked gringo, but I like you pretty well and I do hope you will get away safely. Take good care of yourself.”

“Well, seÑorita,” replied Ned, “I will do that, and so must you. I’d rather be out among the mountains than here in the city. You’d be safer there, too. Anyhow, you are not a Mexican. You are a Spaniard and you would rather be in Spain.”

“Maybe I would, just now,” she told him with a very melancholy look in her brilliant black eyes. “But I do love Mexico, and I do know enough to wish we were not to have any more revolutions. That is, not any more after Paredes and Santa Anna and some other men have been killed.”

“That is the way they all feel about each other,” broke in the general. “Come, Carfora. We have horses waiting for us on one of the back streets.”

There were a few hasty good-bys then. The three fugitives passed out of sight among the shadows of the buildings, and the women returned to the house to wait for the downfall of King or Emperor Paredes.