The girl sprang up.  “It is a lie.  Benito fights for freedom, justice only—­”

“That is not the view of our American Commander,” McTurpin rose and faced her.  “The law of war is that a man who fights against his country is a traitor.”  His eyes held hers hypnotically.  “When this revolt is over there will be imprisonment or pardon for the Spanish-Californians. But Benito will be hanged.”

Inez Windham swayed.  One hand grasped at the bench-back for support; the other clutched her bodice near the throat.  “Benito,” she said almost in a whisper.  Then she turned upon McTurpin furiously.  “Go,” she cried.  “I do not believe you.  Go!”

But McTurpin did not stir.  “It is the law of nations,” he declared, “no use denying it, Miss Windham.”

“Why did you come to tell me this?  To torture me?”

“To save you—­and your brother?”

“How?” she asked fiercely.

“I have influence with Alcalde Bartlett.”  The gambler smiled.  “He owes me—­more than he can pay.  But if that fails ...” he turned toward her eagerly, “I have means to accomplish his escape.”

“And the price,” she stammered.  “There is a price, isn’t there?”

His gaze met hers directly, “You, little Inez.”

CHAPTER IX

THE ELOPEMENT

Two riders, a man and a veiled woman evidently young, halted their horses in Portsmouth Square, where the former alighted and offered an arm to his companion.  She, however, disdaining his assistance, sprang lightly from the saddle and, turning her back on him, gazed, motionless, toward the bay.  There was something arresting and curiously dramatic about the whole performance, something that hinted of impending tragedy.  The slight figure with its listless droop and stony immobility caught and clutched the sympathies of Nathan Spear as he was passing by.  The man was Alec McTurpin; the girl, no doubt, some light o’ love from a neighboring pueblo.  Yet there was a disturbing familiarity about her.

Spear watched them go across the square toward the City Hotel, a long, one-story adobe structure built by Leidesdorff as a store and home.  On the veranda stood the stocky figure of Proprietor Brown, smoking a long pipe and conversing with half a dozen roughly dressed men who lounged about the entrance.  He looked up wonderingly as McTurpin approached.  The latter drew him to one side and appeared to make certain demands to which Brown acquiesced by a curt nod, as if reluctant.  Then the man and woman passed around a corner of the building, the loungers peering curiously after them.

A little later Spear observed the gambler issue forth alone and journey rapidly toward the landing dock.  He noted that a strange ship rode at anchor.  It must have come within the hour, he decided.  Impelled by curiosity, he descended in McTurpin’s wake.

“What ship is that?” he asked of Leidesdorff.