Pesita saw from the American's attitude that he had no
more ammunition. He struck up the carbine of a trooper who
was about to shoot Bridge down.
"Wait!" commanded the bandit. "Cease firing! His ammunition
is gone. Will you surrender?" he asked of Bridge.
"Not until I have beaten from the heads of one or two of
your friends," he replied, "that which their egotism leads them
to imagine are brains. No, if you take me alive, Pesita, you
will have to kill me to do it."
Pesita shrugged. "Very well," he said, indifferently, "it
makes little difference to me--that stairway is as good as a
wall. These brave defenders of the liberty of poor, bleeding
Mexico will make an excellent firing squad. Attention, my
children! Ready! Aim!"
Eleven carbines were leveled at Bridge. In the ghastly light
of early dawn the sallow complexions of the Mexicans took
on a weird hue. The American made a wry face, a slight
shudder shook his slender frame, and then he squared his
shoulders and looked Pesita smilingly in the face.
The figure of a man appeared at the window through
which the Chinaman and the loyal Mexican had escaped.
Quick eyes took in the scene within the room.
"Hey!" he yelled. "Cut the rough stuff!" and leaped into
the room.
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