in writing a somewhat lengthy letter, which he seals, without addressing, and hands to Ashley.
"Ashley, you are a man of honor," he says, laying one hand upon the newspaper man's shoulder. "Promise me that if anything happens to me to-morrow you will deliver that letter to a name I will whisper to you."
"I shall do so with profound regret, sir. The name?"
"Don Manuel de Quesada. He resides in the Pueblo de Olivet, on the edge of Santos, four miles west of Santiago."
Ashley places the letter in his pocket. "I will not fail you, if the occasion for my services should arise. But unless Huerta is more familiar with the American revolver than I believe him to be, I shall have the happiness of returning this document to you after you have filled him full of leaden satisfaction. How are you on the shoot, anyway?"
Navarro smiles grimly. "I have hit a playing card at fifty yards," he says.
"Oh, well; that's close enough markmanship. I am beginning to feel sorry for Huerta."
"Save your sympathy. I shall not kill him. And now, friend Ashley, I believe I'll go to bed. I have been riding all day and I am as tired as a dog. At daylight we start."
"At daylight it is. It is not too late to accept my offer to exchange places with you. I can't hit a playing card at fifty yards, but at least I am alone in the world, and, barring a few excellent friends, would not be especially missed. It is as much my quarrel as yours, you know."
"My dear Ashley," says Navarro, with much emotion, "I am deeply sensible of the goodness of heart that prompts your offer, but, I repeat, this affair must proceed as it has begun."
"Well, good-night to you, then," says Ashley, and he goes off to bed, wondering what manner of man is he who speaks of a thrill at the sight of the most beautiful of all flags streaming out upon the breeze, and yet claims the distinctly Spanish name of Emilio Navarro.
