"I am an American, Senor Commandante, "from New Orleans. No Yankee!"
he hotly answers, forgetting prudence. Peralta opens his eyes in
vague wonder. No Yankee? He questions the rash prisoner. Valois
tells the facts of Fremont's situation, but he firmly says he
knows nothing of his future plans.
"Why so?" demands Peralta. "Are you a common soldier?" Maxime
explains his position as a volunteer.
A pressing inquest follows. Maxime's frankness touches the Commandante
favorably. "I will see you in a day or so. I shall hold you as a
prisoner till I know if your chief means war. I may want you as
an interpreter if I take the field."
"Sergeant," he commands.
The captor salutes his chief.
"Has this young man told me the truth?"
"As far as I know, Senior Don Miguel," is the reply.
"See that he has all he wants. Keep him watched. If he behaves
himself, let him move around. He is not to talk to any one. If he
tries to escape, shoot him. If he wants to see me, let me know."
The Commandante lights a Mexican cigar, and signs to the sergeant
to remove his prisoner. Maxime sees a score of soldiers wandering
around the sunny plaza, where a dozen fleet horses stand saddled.
He feels escape is hopeless.
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