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  “If you don’t shut that foul little trap of yours,” she snapped at last, “I’ll toss you out of here as you are.”

  The boy stopped swearing and looked at her. She felt a little shiver run through her as she met his vicious hating look. She knew then that he was bad—that he would always be bad. But he had shot de Babar, and that was enough for her to help him.

  She put the brassiere on him and padded it out with two small towels. He stood there, looking horrible. Therese felt an insane urge to laugh at him, but she knew he would do something to her if she did. Her hands snatched the dress from the bed and pulled it roughly over his head; then she stepped back to see the effect. She thought he looked like a lost soul out of hell.

  “Try those shoes on,” she said.

  He stooped awkwardly and fitted his feet into the high-heel shoes. Although they fitted him, he couldn’t walk in them. She had to hunt again under the chest of drawers and find him a pair of sandals. A big, wide brim hat completed the picture. In the dark he’d pass anywhere. She nodded her approval. “You’ll do,” she said. “You don’t have to worry your head no more.”

  She wrapped his suit in a gaily coloured shawl and made a bundle of it. “Now,” she said, “we’ll get goin’. Where are you headin’ for?”

  All the time she had been putting his things together the boy had just stood and watched her. All the time she had been supervising his dressing, he had said nothing. When at last he did speak, his voice was so harsh and brittle that it quite startled her. “You ain’t coming with me,” he said. “I’m goin’ alone.”

  She shrugged, suddenly feeling tired of him. She had risked a lot, and she knew every second he stayed with her the risk increased.

  “Then go,” she said. “I guess you’re big enough to take care of yourself.”

  He shuffled to the door, hating her for putting him in this position. He no longer had any confidence in himself. To be dressed like this took from him his sense of manhood. Somehow the clothes made him feel helpless, and the thought of the darkness outside terrified him.

  Therese watched him go. He had no word of thanks for her. He didn’t even look at her again. With his hand on the rail to guide him he edged carefully down the wooden stairs, his knees shaking as the sandals threatened to pitch him forward.

  The moon hid behind cloud and he could see nothing. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he had to wait until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Then, when he could just make out the roof-tops against the sky, he moved slowly away from the house.

  He had not gone far before he ran into a group of soldiers who had been watching him approach. They had been out in the darkness a long time and they could see, whereas he was still nearly blind.

  It was only when they crowded round him that he realized that he was trapped. He stood very still, terror completely paralysing him.

  In the darkness, the soldiers took him for some unprotected girl, and, anxious to relieve their boredom, began to quarrel amongst themselves. He had to stand helpless, while they drew lots for him.

  It would have been unfortunate if he had been a girl. But when they discovered his identity there was a long pause of terror while they persuaded the soldier who had dragged him away from the rest of them not to kill him immediately with his bayonet. They pointed out, reasonably enough, that there was at least one subtle thing to do to him before they finally finished with him.

  THE MAGNIFICENT OPPORTUNITY

  The Mexican General, Cortez, and two officers of his staff sat at a big table covered with maps and papers. The two officers sat very still and upright, their eyes fixed in a blank stare at the map which the General was examining. They had already reached a decision, and the tight tenseness of their muscles indicated their impatience for the General to speak.

  The sentry, posted at the open door, watched the little group at the table with bored eyes. Those three had been sitting round the table for four hours whispering together, and now for the past half-hour they hadn’t even spoken. A fine way to win a revolution, the sentry thought, and spat contemptuously into the courtyard.

  Holtz, the younger of the staff officers, shifted suddenly in his chair. His companion, Mendetta, looked at him with a scowl, moving his head warningly, but Holtz’s movement had already distracted the General, who pushed back his chair and stood up.

  The sentry pulled his long, slack body away from the doorway, and his eyes looked a little less bored. Perhaps something was going to happen at last, he thought hopefully.

  Cortez walked away from the table and paced the length of the room. His big fleshy face was heavy with thought. He said abruptly, “The situation is bad.”

  The two officers relaxed a trifle. They had arrived at that decision more than a half an hour ago.

  Holtz said: “Your Excellency is right. It is very bad.”

  The General looked at him sourly. “How bad?” he demanded, coming back to the table. “Show me here.” He put a thick finger on the map. “How bad?”

  Holtz leant forward. “This is how I see it,” he said. “The enemy are in considerable strength. They are well mounted and they have artillery. If we attempted to make a stand here we could be surrounded. We are outnumbered by four to one and our men are tired. They are even disheartened. We have been retreating for the last two weeks.” He tapped the map. “Against artillery we could not hold this position long, then it would be too late to fall back. I think we should withdraw immediately.”

  The General ran his fingers through his close-cropped iron-grey hair. “And you?” he said, looking at Mendetta.

  “We would have to leave the gun,” Mendetta said slowly, knowing that he had touched the point on which the whole situation hinged. “We should not have time to get the gun up the mountain-path to the hills. The enemy are hardly three hours’ ride from here. If we retreated now, the gun would have to be abandoned.”

  Cortez smiled. “The gun goes with us. Make no mistake about that. We have taken that gun from the enemy and we have dragged it for three hundred miles. We will not abandon it now.”

  The two officers glanced at each other and shrugged. It was to be expected. They had anticipated that, sooner or later, the accursed gun would endanger the safety of the tattered, retreating army. It was not as if they had any shells. The gun was useless. It was, however, a symbol of the only victory General Cortez had scored against the enemy in a lightning raid, and under no circumstances was he parting with such a symbol. If he was driven back over the mountains, he was determined that the gun should go with him.

  Holtz said, “Your Excellency has no doubt made his plans?”

  There was no longer a bond of sympathy between the two officers and the General. Let the old fool get out of this if he could. They had no wish to endanger their lives for the sake of a captured, useless gun. They were young enough to accept defeat, knowing that they could win perhaps fresh glory another day, but Cortez was getting old. His time was nearly past.

  The General felt their antagonism. He knew they would willingly leave the gun to save their skins, but as long as he was in command they would do as he said. He knew them well enough for that. They might think he was a crazy old fool, they might even grumble, but if he told them the gun was to go, they would obey.

  He sat down at the table again. “One of you will take four men and hold up the enemy’s advance. You can have the Lewis gun and four rifles. With the Lewis gun you should be able to hold them back long enough to let the remaining troops get clear. Do you understand?”

  The two officers sat there stupefied. He was asking one of them to sacrifice himself for the gun. Not only that, but he was throwing away the only Lewis gun they had ever possessed. A gun of the utmost value because they had a large quantity of ammunition to go with it. All for a stupid, rusty, useless field-gun, the symbol of his only victory.

  Mendetta said: “The enemy can certainly be delayed, Your Excellency, but eventually they must break through. It will then be too late to r
etreat. The loss of the Lewis gun will be serious.”

  Cortez shook his head. “Once we are across the mountains, Pablo will not follow us. The fighting will be over. We shall no longer require the Lewis gun. It will have served its purpose. We shall have to re-equip the whole of the army before launching a new offensive.”

  There was a long silence. Neither of the two officers wanted to speak. They waited for Cortez to tell them who was to go. Cortez waved his hand. “Time presses. The officer who undertakes this operation may not be able to retreat. It is a dangerous, but, at the same time, a glorious opportunity. It would not do for me to choose which of you shall do this. I have great faith in you both. Will you gentlemen kindly withdraw and decide between yourselves who is to go? I shall expect your decision in ten minutes.”

  Mendetta got to his feet, saluted and walked out of the room, followed by Holtz. The bright hot sunlight nearly blinded them as they stepped into the courtyard, and without a word they walked stiffly to the small out-house that served as their quarters.

  “He is crazy, the mad senile fool,” Mendetta burst out, as he shut the door behind them. “He is throwing away the lives of four men and an officer, as well as the Lewis, to save his unprintable vanity.”

  Holtz lit a cigarette with a hand that shook a little. He was tall, very dark and handsome. Although he was only twenty-six, he looked a lot older. In spite of the heavy going of the past two weeks, he was smart and his white uniform very neat and clean. A heavy gold chain encircled his brown wrist, and on the second finger of his right hand he wore a curiously fashioned green jade ring. He looked at Mendetta, who was six years his senior. “We haven’t long,” he said. “I suppose you will take on this operation?” There was a little mocking smile on his lips that infuriated Mendetta.

  “I am married and I have two children,” Mendetta said. Sweat came out in little glistening beads on his forehead. “I thought that you—” He paused and looked away.

  “I see,” Holtz said slowly. “Will your wife miss you so much?”

  “It would kill her if anything happened to me,” Mendetta said. He had not seen his wife for three years, but he was very fond of life, and he felt this was the only card that he could play honourably. “If it were not for my family,” he went on, drawing himself up, “I would seize this chance. It is a magnificent stroke for the revolution.”

  Holtz said, “I am married too.” This was not strictly accurate, but he couldn’t let Mendetta off so easily.

  Mendetta went very pale. “I didn’t know that,” he said. “You never said.”

  Holtz got to his feet. “We have two minutes,” he said. “Shall we cut cards?”

  Mendetta became very agitated, and although he opened and shut his mouth several times he could not speak.

  Holtz took a soiled pack of cards from a drawer and tossed them on the table. “Lowest card has the magnificent opportunity,” he said, and flipped a card from the pack. It fell face upwards. It was the four of spades.

  “Not very difficult to beat,” he said, shrugging. “Come, Mendetta, the General is waiting.” He went to the door and stood with his back to the table.

  Mendetta pulled a card from the pack. His hand shook so that the pack became scattered. He looked with horror at the two of diamonds he had drawn. Snatching up another card, he found the six of spades and ran with trembling legs over to Holtz. “The six of spades,” he managed to gasp.

  Holtz looked at him, the mocking smile again on his lips. “How fortunate you are. To be lucky with cards and to be lucky in love.”

  Mendetta saw that Holtz knew he had cheated, and he went white with shame.

  Holtz said: “The General may wish to see you as well. Let us see him together.”

  Cortez was waiting for them impatiently. “Well?” he snapped.

  Holtz saluted stiffly. “I am ready to take your orders, Your Excellency,” he said.

  Cortez nodded. He was pleased. Holtz was young. He had a stronger nerve than Mendetta, and, what was more important, he was proud. He would not fall back.

  Cortez looked across at Mendetta. “Make immediate preparations for the withdrawal. Do not forget, the gun goes first. Have everything ready to leave within the hour. You have no time to lose.”

  Mendetta saluted and stepped to the door. He looked back at Holtz, then said, “My best wishes, Lieutenant. May we meet again.”

  Holtz bowed. “Remember me to your wife, Mendetta, remember me to your children,” he said. “You fortunate man.”

  Mendetta went out of the room and shut the door behind him.

  The General looked at Holtz searchingly. “I did not know he had any children,” he said, pulling a map towards him.

  Holtz came close to the table. “They are always convenient,” with a little grimace. “What are my orders, Your Excellency?”

  The General looked at him sharply. He didn’t like bitterness and he could not understand sarcasm. With an effort of will, he drew his attention to the matter in hand. “This place can be held with courage,” he said. “You will have four men. I cannot spare more. Choose whom you like. I take it you will handle the Lewis gun yourself? The enemy are unlikely to use their artillery, once they have ascertained that this place is held only by a few. Shells are costly. You are to delay them as long as possible. As long as you are alive, they cannot pass. You are not to expose yourself, and you are to be very careful not to waste ammunition. I will leave the details to you. Is there anything you do not understand?”

  Holtz shook his head. “You have made it very simple, Your Excellency. How long am I to keep up the resistance?”

  “I want at least twelve hours to get to the mountain road. Once I have got beyond the pass I do not think Pablo will follow any further; it would be too dangerous. We leave immediately. Pablo may not attack. In which case you will withdraw after twelve hours have elapsed from the time we leave. If he should attack, then you must hold him off until…” he glanced at the small clock on his desk, “four o’clock tomorrow.”

  Holtz nodded. “I understand perfectly. If you will excuse me, I will make my preparations and choose my men.”

  The General waved his hand. “I shall see you before I go,” he said. “Make your preparations with all speed.”

  Outside in the courtyard there was tremendous activity. Horses were being saddled. Packs slung. Men, running to and fro, shouted orders excitedly. In the centre of the commotion stood the big, rusty field-gun. Men were already fastening thick ropes to it, and even as Holtz approached, the gun began to move slowly down the uneven road towards the distant hills.

  He stood for a moment watching it go. Then he turned with a shrug of his shoulders. Time was pressing. He knew the four men he was going to choose. He knew they were reliable, although, of course, they had no wish to throw their lives away. Still, as long as he was with them, they would see it through. He was sure of that.

  He caught sight of Sergeant Castra, who was walking towards him. “Sergeant,” he called. “Here, I want you.”

  Castra increased his pace. He was a tall, thick-set man, with hard eyes and a firm determined jaw. He had been in the service for a long time, and Holtz knew him to be a soldier in every sense of the word.

  “I want Golz, Dedos, Fernando and you to remain behind. We are to hold this position until the army has had time to withdraw. Will you get the other men?”

  Castra saluted. “Yes, Lieutenant,” he said, “at once.”

  Holtz watched him hurry away and nodded, satisfied. Castra had shown no surprise, no disappointment. He had accepted the order without question. It was a good beginning.

  A few minutes later the four men came hurrying up. They stood before Holtz, their eyes apprehensive. Castra was the only one who looked unmoved.

  Without wasting time, Holtz told them what was expected of them. “The enemy may not attack,” he concluded. “If they don’t, then we shall have won distinction easily; if they do, we shall hold this position to the last man. There can be no re
treat, do you understand that? I have chosen you four because of your records, but if there is any man among you who wishes to step down, he can do so. I do not want halfhearted support. There is a small chance of withdrawing as we shall have the Lewis gun, but if you feel about the revolution as I think, then you will not hesitate to do your duty.”

  He felt suddenly ashamed when he had spoken, because he knew it was only his pride that made him stay. It was no blow struck for the revolution. Rather it was for the pride of the General. The whole situation really turned on pride, and he felt a hypocrite talking such drivel to these men.

  It had the required effect, however. The four men stiffened and did not move.

  “Very well,” Holtz said, “let us prepare. Take your men and get the Lewis gun. Get all the ammunition and report back to me here.”

  When they had gone away, he stood watching the army move off. It was quite remarkable, he thought, how quickly they had prepared for the withdrawal. He felt them looking at him as they marched off in ragged lines. He felt their looks of sympathy mixed with derision, and he drew himself to his full height, feeling just for the moment a surge of emotion that comes to a man at this time.

  The General came out and Holtz walked over to him. Cortez returned his salute and then abruptly held out his hand. “I’m sorry, Holtz,” he said in a heavy voice; “you will be decorated for this. I am certain that you will not fail me, so certain, that I will not add to what I have already said. Should anything happen to you, can I write to anyone for you?”

  Holtz thanked him. The lines round his mouth hardened and he took from his breast pocket an envelope. “Your Excellency is very considerate,” he said. “If I should be killed, and not before, it would be a great kindness if you would have this letter delivered.”

  The General took the letter. “I will take it myself,” he said; “that is the least I can do.” He glanced at the address. “Senorita Nina Howard. She is Ingles? Your friend?” He looked hard at the Lieutenant.