adventures, honorable or dishonorable, that might come in Don Roberto's days.
"What is a general more or less?" he said.
"What do you say, Helena? You have most to forgive."
"Let him go, Gabriel," she requested, her compassion making her voice gentle for one who deserved no gentleness.
"There are some horses in the stable that belong to your government," said Henderson. "Take one of them and go. And here—here is your flag of truce. It has a black smudge on it, like your honor. Go!"
The tramp of horses was coming near in the road at the head of the olive lane, and the rumble of heavy wheels. The sun was low on the hills; their shadows reached into the valley, over Don Abrahan's mansion, submerging the road along which the conquerors advanced.
The chaparral grew tall at the roadside just beyond the head of the olive Jane; those who stood waiting, pulsing, straining with bright eyes and parted lips, could not see the advancing column whose dust rose high. But there was more than dust to prove that strong men were advancing into that pastoral, sleeping land that placid summer evening. Gabriel Henderson, straining until his eyes ached for the sight of them, removed his hat when he saw the token that appeared above the green bosque like a flame.
"There the flag came, lifted high. The man who
