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only　you　might　turn　foolish　and　let　it　go　off。　You　can　have　the

gun。　It's　a　good　one。　As　I　was　saying；　I　am　going　right　out

that　door。　And　you　ain't　going　to　pull　that　gun　off　either。　It

takes　guts　to　shoot　a　man；　and　you　sure　ain't　got　them。　Now　get

ready　and　see　if　you　can　pull　that　trigger。　I　ain't　going　to

harm　you。　I'm　going　out　that　door；　and　I'm　starting。〃



Keeping　his　eyes　fixed　on　her；　he　pushed　back　the　chair　and

slowly　stood　erect。　The　hammer　rose　halfway。　She　watched　it。　So

did　he。



〃Pull　harder；〃　he　advised。　〃It　ain't　half　up　yet。　Go　on　and

pull　it　and　kill　a　man。　That's　what　I　said；　kill　a　man；　spatter

his　brains　out　on　the　floor；　or　slap　a　hole　into　him　the　size

of　your。　fist。　That's　what　killing　a　man　means。〃



The　hammer　lowered　jerkily　but　gently。　The　man　turned　his　back

and　walked　slowly　to　the　door。　She　swung　the　revolver　around　so

that　it　bore　on　his　back。　Twice　again　the　hammer　came　up

halfway　and　was　reluctantly　eased　down。



At　the　door　the　man　turned　for　a　moment　before　passing　on。　A

sneer　was　on　his　lips。　He　spoke　to　her　in　a　low　voice；　almost

drawling；　but　in　it　was　the　quintessence　of　all　loathing；　as　he

called　her　a　name　unspeakable　and　vile。







THE　MEXICAN



NOBODY　knew　his　history　they　of　the　Junta　least　of　all。　He

was　their　〃little　mystery；〃　their　〃big　patriot；〃　and　in　his　way

he　worked　as　hard　for　the　coming　Mexican　Revolution　as　did

they。　They　were　tardy　in　recognizing　this；　for　not　one　of　the

Junta　liked　him。　The　day　he　first　drifted　into　their　crowded；

busy　rooms；　they　all　suspected　him　of　being　a　spyone　of　the

bought　tools　of　the　Diaz　secret　service。　Too　many　of　the

comrades　were　in　civil　an　military　prisons　scattered　over　the

United　States；　and　others　of　them；　in　irons；　were　even　then

being　taken　across　the　border　to　be　lined　up　against　adobe

walls　and　shot。



At　the　first　sight　the　boy　did　not　impress　them　favorably。　Boy

he　was；　not　more　than　eighteen　and　not　over　large　for　his

years。　He　announced　that　he　was　Felipe　Rivera；　and　that　it　was

his　wish　to　work　for　the　Revolution。　That　was　allnot　a　wasted

word；　no　further　explanation。　He　stood　waiting。　There　was　no

smile　on　his　lips；　no　geniality　in　his　eyes。　Big　dashing

Paulino　Vera　felt　an　inward　shudder。　Here　was　something

forbidding；　terrible；　inscrutable。　There　was　something　venomous

and　snakelike　in　the　boy's　black　eyes。　They　burned　like　cold

fire；　as　with　a　vast；　concentrated　bitterness。　He　flashed　them

from　the　faces　of　the　conspirators　to　the　typewriter　which

little　Mrs。　Sethby　was　industriously　operating。　His　eyes　rested

on　hers　but　an　instantshe　had　chanced　to　look　upand　she；

too；　sensed　the　nameless　something　that　made　her　pause。　She　was

compelled　to　read　back　in　order　to　regain　the　swing　of　the

letter　she　was　writing。



Paulino　Vera　looked　questioningly　at　Arrellano　and　Ramos；　and

questioningly　they　looked　back　and　to　each　other。　The

indecision　of　doubt　brooded　in　their　eyes。　This　slender　boy　was

the　Unknown；　vested　with　all　the　menace　of　the　Unknown。　He　was

unrecognizable；　something　quite　beyond　the　ken　of　honest；

ordinary　revolutionists　whose　fiercest　hatred　for　Diaz　and　his

tyranny　after　all　was　only　that　of　honest　and　ordinary

patriots。　Here　was　something　else；　they　knew　not　what。　But

Vera；　always　the　most　impulsive；　the　quickest　to　act；　stepped

into　the　breach。



〃Very　well；〃　he　said　coldly。　〃You　say　you　want　to　work　for　the

Revolution。　Take　off　your　coat。　Hang　it　over　there。　I　will　show

you；　comewhere　are　the　buckets　and　cloths。　The　floor　is

dirty。　You　will　begin　by　scrubbing　it；　and　by　scrubbing　the

floors　of　the　other　rooms。　The　spittoons　need　to　be　cleaned。

Then　there　are　the　windows。〃



〃Is　it　for　the　Revolution？〃　the　boy　asked。



〃It　is　for　the　Revolution；〃　Vera　answered。



Rivera　looked　cold　suspicion　at　all　of　them；　then　proceeded　to

take　off　his　coat。



〃It　is　well；〃　he　said。



And　nothing　more。　Day　after　day　he　came　to　his　worksweeping；

scrubbing；　cleaning。　He　emptied　the　ashes　from　the　stoves；

brought　up　the　coal　and　kindling；　and　lighted　the　fires　before

the　most　energetic　one　of　them　was　at　his　desk。



〃Can　I　sleep　here？〃　he　asked　once。



Ah；　ha！　So　that　was　itthe　hand　of　Diaz　showing　through！　To

sleep　in　the　rooms　of　the　Junta　meant　access　to　their　secrets；

to　the　lists　of　names；　to　the　addresses　of　comrades　down　on

Mexican　soil。　The　request　was　denied；　and　Rivera　never　spoke　of

it　again。　He　slept　they　knew　not　where；　and　ate　they　knew　not

where　nor　how。　Once；　Arrellano　offered　him　a　couple　of　dollars。

Rivera　declined　the　money　with　a　shake　of　the　head。　When　Vera

joined　in　and　tried　to　press　it　upon　him；　he　said：



〃I　am　working　for　the　Revolution。〃



It　takes　money　to　raise　a　modern　revolution。　and　always　the

Junta　was　pressed。　The　members　starved　and　toiled；　and　the

longest　day　was　none　too　long；　and　yet　there　were　times　when　it

appeared　as　if　the　Revolution　stood　or　fell　on　no　more　than　the

matter　of　a　few　dollars。　Once；　the　first　time；　when　the　rent　of

the　house　was　two　months　behind　and　the　landlord　was

threatening　dispossession；　it　was　Felipe　Rivera；　the　scrub…boy

in　the　poor；　cheap　clothes；　worn　and　threadbare；　who　laid　sixty

dollars　in　gold　on　May　Sethby's　desk。　There　were　other　times。

Three　hundred　letters；　clicked　out　on　the　busy　typewriters

（appeals　for　assistance；　for　sanctions　from　the　organized　labor

groups；　requests　for　square　news　deals　to　the　editors　of

newspapers；　protests　against　the　high…handed　treatment　of

revolutionists　by　the　United　States　courts）；　lay　unmailed；

awaiting　postage。　Vera's　watch　had　disappearedthe

old…fashioned　gold　repeater　that　had　been　his　father's。

Likewise　had　gone　the　plain　gold　band　from　May　Setbby's　third

finger。　Things　were　desperate。　Ramos　and　Arrellano　pulled　their

long　mustaches　in　despair。　The　letters　must　go　off；　and　the

Post　Office　allowed　no　credit　to　purchasers　of　stamps。　Then　it

was　that　Rivera　put　on　his　hat　and　went　out。　When　he　came　back

he　laid　a　thousand　two…cent　stamps　on　May　Sethby's　desk。



〃I　wonder　if　it　is　the　cursed　gold　of　Diaz？〃　said　Vera　to　the

comrades。



They　elevated　their　brows　and　could　not　decide。　And　Felipe

Rivera；　the　scrubber　for　the　Revolution；　continued；　as　occasion

arose；　to　lay　down　gold　and　silver　for　the　Junta's　use。



And　still　they　could　not　bring　themselves　to　like　him。　They　did

not　know　him。　His　ways　were　not　theirs。　He　gave　no　confidences。

He　repelled　all　probing。　Youth　that　he　was；　they　could　never

nerve　themselves　to　dare　to　question　him。



〃A　great　and　lonely　spirit；　perhaps；　I　do　not　know；　I　do　not

know；〃　Arrellano　said　helplessly。



〃He　is　not　human；〃　said　Ramos。



〃His　soul　has　been　seared；〃　said　May　Sethby。　〃Light　and

laughter　have　been　burned　out　of　him。　He　is　like　one　dead；　and

yet　he　is　fearfully　alive。〃



〃He　has　been　through　hell；〃　said　Vera。　〃No　man　could　look　like

that　who　has　not　been　through　helland　he　is　only　a　boy。〃



Yet　they　could　not　like　him。　He　never　talked；　never　inquired；

never　suggested。　He　would　stand　listening；　expressionless；　a

thing　dead；　save　for　his　eyes；　coldly　burning；　while　their　talk

of　the　Revolution　ran　high　and　warm。　From　face　to　face　and

speaker　to　speaker　his　eyes　would　turn；　boring　like　gimlets　of

incandescent　ice；　disconcerting　and　perturbing。



〃He　is　no　spy；〃　Vera　confided　to　May　Sethby。　〃He　is　a

patriotmark　me；　the　greatest　patriot　of　us　all。　I　know　it；　I

feel　it；　here　in　my　heart　and　head　I　feel　it。　But　him　I　know

not　at　all。〃



〃He　has　a　bad　temper；〃　said　May　Sethby。



〃I　know；〃　said　Vera；　with　a　shudder。　〃He　has　looked　at　me　with

those　eyes　of　his。　They　do　not　love；　they　threaten；　they　are

savage　as　a　wild　tiger's。　I　know；　if　I　should　prove　unfaithful

to　the　Cause；　that　he　would　kill　me。　He　has　no　heart。　He　is

pitiless　as　steel；　keen　and　cold　as　frost。　He　is　like　moonshine

in　a　winter　night　when　a　man　freezes　to　death　on　some　lonely

mountain　top。　I　am　not　afraid　of　Diaz　and　all　his　killers；　but

this　boy；　of　him　am　I　afraid。　I　tell　you　true。　I　am　afraid。　He

is　the　breath　of　death。〃



Yet　Vera　it　was　who　persuaded　the　others　to　give　the　first

trust　to　Rivera。　The　line　of　communication　between　Los　Angeles

and　Lower　California　had　broken　down。　Three　of　the　comrades　had

dug　their　own　graves　and　been　shot　into　them。　Two　more　were

United　States　prisoners　in　Los　Angeles。　Juan　Alvarado；　the

Federal　commander；　was　a　monster。　All　their　plans　did　he

checkmate。　They　could　no　longer　gain　access　to　the　active

revolutionists；　and　the　incipient　ones；　in　Lower　California。



Young　Rivera　was　given　his　instructions　and　dispatched　south。

When　he　returned；　the　line　of　communication　was　reestablished；

and　Juan　Alvarado　was　dead。　He　had　been　found　in　bed；　a　knife

hilt…deep　in　his　breast。　This　had　exceeded　Rivera's

instructions；　but　they　of　the　Junta　knew　the　times　of　his

movements