The speaker wondered if Mrs. Austin really understood his chief’s nature; how determined he was; how relentless he could be.  General Longorio was a remarkable person.  Opposition of any sort he could not brook.  His discipline was rigorous and his punishments were severe; being utterly without fear himself, he insisted upon implicit obedience in others at whatever cost.  For instance, during the battle of San Pedro, just south of here, a handful of Rebels had taken refuge in a small, one-roomed adobe house, where they resisted all efforts at dislodgment.  Time and again the Federals had charged, only to meet a fire too murderous to face.  The slaughter had been terrific.  The lieutenant, veteran of many revolutions, vowed he had never seen a street so full of dead and wounded as the one in front of this house.  Finally the soldiers had refused to advance again, and their captain had sent for a cannon.  During the wait Longorio had ridden up.

“‘Come!  Make haste!’ said he, ‘That house obstructs my view.’”

Seeing that Alaire was deeply interested in this recital, the old lieutenant paused dramatically.

“Well, the capitan explained that an army was insufficient to take that house; that it meant death to all who approached.  I was not present—­God be praised!—­but others told me what happened.  General Longorio dismounted and embraced the capitan—­he kissed him on the cheek, saying: 

“‘Adios, my dear good friend.  I fear I have seen the last of you.’

“Then what?  Senora, you would never guess.”  The speaker shook his head.  “Longorio took two dynamite grenades, and, laughing like a boy, he ran forward before any one knew what he was about.  It is nothing but the truth, senora, and he a general!  This capitan loved him dearly, and so his bones turned to rope when the windows of that accursed house began to vomit fire and the dust began to fly.  They say that the dead men in the street rose to their knees and crossed themselves—­I only repeat what I was told by those who looked on.  Anyhow, I have seen things quite as remarkable.

“Never was such courage, senora!  God must have been moved to astonishment and admiration, for He diverted those bullets, every one.  When our general came to the house he lit the fuses from his cigarette, then he cried, ‘Viva Potosi!’ and hurled one bomb to the roof; the other he flung through a window into the very faces of his enemies.  Those Rebels were packed in there like goats in a corral, and they say such a screaming you never heard.  Doubtless many of them died from sheer terror the rest were blown through each other.  “The lieutenant breathed an admiring oath.  “Truly, it must have been a superb spectacle.”

“General Longorio must be very brave indeed,” Alaire agreed.

“But wait!  That is not all.  After we had taken the town and destroyed what Rebel officers we found—­”

“You mean—­your prisoners?”

“Si.  But there were only a few, and doubtless some of them would have died from their wounds.  Well then, after that General Longorio called his old friend—­that capitan—­out before his troops and with his own hand he shot him.  Then every fifth man among those who had refused to charge he ordered executed.  It effected much good, I assure you.”