of him to the end, denying him the grace of dying with hands unbound. The officer of the squad advanced, a handkerchief in his hand, offering to cover the condemned man's eyes, not knowing that one who had sailed the seas so long, and looked familiarly on death so many times, would scorn to have its approach hidden from him now. Henderson could not hear his words, but he saw him draw himself up valiantly, and the officer stand back. The sun was yellow on the adobe wall above Toberman's head when he fell.
An overpowering rage swept Henderson, hot as aflame. He strained to lift his bound body in the saddle, to raise his bound arms in his denunciation.
"You damned cowards!" he shouted, voice vibrant with passion. "You damned, infernal cowards!"
There must have been something in the timbre of Henderson's voice that carried the realization to the very hearts of the men who had encompassed that deed that a delegate from a stronger race was among them; that they had heard the voice of vengeance from a source of authority. Even if they did not understand the words, the soldiers who had fired into Toberman's body felt the thought that they conveyed. They turned, their smoking weapons clutched, as if the tramp of cavalry had struck upon their ears.
Don Abrahan wheeled, shocked out of his studied dignity. The gilded and braided general in the plumed cap turned to look at this man who
