The absence of the band, except for the few who guarded the prisoner, was policy on their part.  They were receiving the news from the river villages daily, where the friends of Don Ramon discussed his absence in whispers.  Their system of espionage was as careful as their methods were cruel and heartless.  They even got reports from the ranch that not a member of the family had ventured away since its master’s capture.  The local authorities were inactive.  The bandits would play their cards for a high ransom.

Early one morning after a troubled night’s rest, Don Ramon was awakened by the arrival of the robbers, several of whom were boisterously drunk.  It was only with curses and drawn arms that the chief prevented these men from committing outrages on their helpless captive.

After coffee was served, the chief unfolded his plot to them, with Don Ramon as a listener to the proceedings.  Addressing them, he said that the prisoner’s offense was not one against them or theirs; that at best they were but the hirelings of others; that they were poorly paid, and that it had become sickening to him to do the bloody work for others.  Don Ramon Mora had gold at his command, enough to give each more in a day than they could hope to receive for years of this inhuman servitude.  He could possibly pay to each two thousand dollars for his freedom, guaranteeing them his gratitude, and pledging to refrain from any prosecution.  Would they accept this offer or refuse it?  As many as were in favor of granting his life would deposit in his hat a leaf from the mesquite; those opposed, a leaf from the wild cane which surrounded their camp.

The vote asked for was watched by the prisoner as only a man could watch whose life hung in the balance.  There were eight cane leaves to seven of the mesquite.  The chief flew into a rage, cursed his followers for murderers for refusing to let the life blood run in this man, who had never done one of them an injury.  He called them cowards for attacking the helpless, even accusing them of lack of respect for their chief’s wishes.  The majority hung their heads like whipped curs.  When he had finished his harangue, one of their number held up his hand to beg the privilege of speaking.

“Yes, defend your dastardly act if you can,” said the chief.

“Capitan,” said the man, making obeisance and tapping his breast, “there is an oath recorded here, in memory of a father who was hanged by the French for no other crime save that he was a patriot to the land of his birth.  And you ask me to violate my vow!  To the wind with your sympathy!  To the gallows with our enemies!” There was a chorus of “bravos” and shouts of “Vivi el Mejico,” as the majority congratulated the speaker.

When the chief led the prisoner back to his blanket, he spoke hopefully to Don Ramon, explaining that it was the mescal the men had drunk which made them so unreasonable and defiant.  Promising to reason with them when they were more sober, he left Don Ramon with his solitary guard.  The chief then returned to the band, where he received the congratulations of his partners in crime on his mock sympathy.  It was agreed that the majority should be won over at the next council, which they would hold that evening.