I advise you not to forget
yourself; you may find a lariat around your neck." With which
admonition the major-domo leaves. He tosses Maxime a bunch of
cigaritos, and offers him a light ere going, with some show of
courtesy.
Valois builds no fallacious hopes on this slender concession. He
knows the strange Mexicans. They would postpone a military execution
if the condemned asked for a smoke.
Facing his fate, Maxime decides, while crossing the plaza, to
conceal nothing. He can honorably tell his story. Foreigners have
been gathering in California for years. The Commandante can easily
test his disclosures, so lying would be useless. He believes either
a British or American fleet will soon occupy California. The signs
of the times have been unmistakable since the last return of the
foreigners. Will he live to see the day? "Quien sabe?"
Maxime sees a stern man of fifty seated in his official presence
room. Commandante Miguel Peralta is clad in his undress cavalry
uniform. The sergeant captor is in attendance, while at the door
an armed sentinel hovers. This is the wolf's den. Maxime is wary
and serious.
"You are a Yankee, young man," begins the soldier. Maxime Valois'
Creole blood stirs in his veins.
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