“He shall have a military funeral,” Rocardo promised.
“From the cathedral,” Webster added. “And take a picture of it for his people. He told me about them. I want them to think he amounted to something, after all. And when you get this two-by-four republic of yours going again, Rick, you might have your congress award Don Juan a thousand dollars _oro_ for capturing Sarros. Then we can send the money to his old folks.”
“But he didn't capture Sarros,” Ricardo protested. “The man escaped when the Guards cut their way through.”
“He didn't. That was a ruse while he beat it out the gate where you found me. I saw Don Juan knock him cold with the but of his rifle after I'd brought down his horse.”
“He may be--provided all this didn't happen the day before yesterday. If I wanted him, I'd go down and look for him, Rick.”
“One minute, then. Send a man around to that little back street where they have the wounded--it's a couple of blocks away from here--to tell Mother Jenks and the young lady with her I'll not be back.”
“They're both outside now. They must have gone looking for you, because they found you and Don Juan first and then told me about it.”
“Oh! Well, run along and get your man.” Ricardo departed on the run, taking the sentry at the door with him and in his haste giving no thought to Mother Jenks and her companion waiting for the doctor's verdict. In the palace grounds he gathered two more men and bade them follow him; leading by twenty yards, he emerged at the gate and paused to look around him.
Some hundred feet down the street from the palace gate Sarros's bay charger lay dead. When Webster's bullet brought the poor beast down, his rider had fallen clear of him, only to fall a victim to the ferocity of Don Juan Cafetéro. Later, as Sarros lay stunned and bleeding beside his mount, the stricken animal in its death-struggle had half risen, only to fall again, this time on the extended left leg of his late master; consequently when Sarros recovered consciousness following the thoughtful attentions of his assailant, it was to discover himself a hopeless prisoner. The heavy carcass of his horse pinned his foot and part of his leg to the ground, rendering him as helpless and desperate as a trapped animal. For several minutes now he had been striving frantically to release himself; with his sound right leg pressed against the animal's backbone he tried to gain sufficient purchase to withdraw his left leg from the carcass.