His comrade
stopped at last. They were not more than a hundred yards from the fire
now, and the space in front of them was mostly open. The Panther,
crouching among the bushes, raised his finger slowly and pointed toward
the fire.
Ned, who had moved to one side, followed the pointing finger and saw
Urrea. He was the dominant figure in a group of six or seven gathered
about the flames. He was no longer in any disguise, but wore an
officer's gorgeous uniform of white and silver. A splendid cocked hat
was on his head, and a small gold hilted rapier swung by his side.
It may have been partly the effect of the night and the red flame, but
the face of Urrea had upon Ned an effect much like that of Santa Anna.
It was dark and handsome, but full of evil. And evil Ned knew Urrea to
be. No man with righteous blood in his veins would play the spy and
traitor as he had done.
"I could shoot him from here," whispered the Panther, who evidently was
influenced in a similar way, "then reach our horses an' get away. It
might be a good deed, an' it might save our lives, Ned, but I'm not able
to force myself to do it."
"Nor I," said Ned. "I can't shoot an enemy from ambush."
Urrea and the other men at the fire, all of whom were in the dress of
officers, were in a deep talk.
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