They had waited patiently, these Garcias, heedful of Longorio’s orders, and now they burst into a torrent of thanks.  They flung themselves to their knees and kissed the edge of Alaire’s dress.  Their instructions had been plain, and they followed them to the letter, yet their gratitude was none the less genuine for being studied.  The little mother’s hysteria, for instance, could not have been entirely assumed, and certainly no amount of rehearsals could have taught the child to join his cries so effectively to his parents’.  Between them all they made such a racket as to summon a crowd, and Dolores, who had also awaited her mistress, was so deeply stirred that she wept with them.

General Longorio enjoyed this scene tremendously, and his beaming eyes expressed the hope that Alaire was fully satisfied with the moment.  But the Garcias, having been thoroughly coached, insisted upon rendering full measure of thanks, and there seemed to be no way of shutting them off until the general ordered them to their feet.

“That is enough!” he declared.  “Hombre, you are free, so go about your business and fight no more with those accursed rebels.”

Juan, of course, was ready at this moment to fight for any one he was told to fight for, particularly Longorio himself, and he so declared.  His life was at the service of the benefactor who had spared him; his wife and baby lived only to bless the illustrious general.

“They look very poor,” said Alaire, and opened her purse; but Longorio would not permit her to give.  Extracting a large roll of paper money from his own pocket, he tossed it, without counting, to Juan, and then when the onlookers applauded he loudly called to one of his officers, saying: 

“Oiga!  Give these good friends of mine two horses, and see that they are well cared for.  Now, Juan,” he addressed the dazed countryman, “I have one order for you.  Every night of your life you and your pretty wife must say a prayer for the safety and happiness of this beautiful lady who has induced me to spare you.  Do you promise?”

“We promise!” eagerly cried the pair.

“Good!  See that you keep your word.  On the day that you forget for the first time Luis Longorio will come to see you.  And then what?” He scowled at them fiercely.

“We will not forget,” the Garcias chorused.

There was a murmur from the onlookers; some one cried:  “Viva Longorio!”

The general bowed smilingly; then, taking Alaire’s arm, he waved the idlers out of his path with a magnificent gesture.

When, later in the day, Mrs. Austin came to say good-by and thank the Mexican for his courtesies, he humbly begged permission to pay his respects that evening at her hotel, and she could not refuse.

As the coach went bouncing across the international bridge, Dolores said, spitefully:  “It will take more than the pardon of poor Juan Garcia to unlock Heaven for that bandit.  He is the wickedest man I ever met—­yes, probably the wickedest man in the world.”