She drew Henry’s ring from her finger, and threw it on the floor. Francis slipped Henry’s ring back on her finger and kissed her hand in farewell. When she passed out the door she turned and with a whispered movement of the lips told him: “I love you.”

At ten o’clock Francis was brought to the gallows. All San Antonio was present, including Leoncia, Enrico Solano, and his five tall sons. In vain Leoncia’s father and brothers protested that Francis was not the man. The Jefe Politico smiled and ordered the execution to proceed.

Standing on the trap, Francis declined the ministrations of the priest, telling him that an innocent man needed no intercessions.

They had tied Francis’ legs, and were tying his arms, when the voice of a singer was heard. Henry Morgan was entering, thrusting aside the guards at the gate who tried to bar his way. [49]

The Jefe shrugged his shoulders and announced that he was ready to hang both men. And here arose contention from the Solano men that Henry was likewise innocent of the murder of Alfaro. But it was Francis, from the scaffold, who shouted:

“You cannot hang a man without trial! He must have his trial!”

And when Francis had descended from the scaffold, the Comisario, with the Jefe at his back, arrested Henry Morgan for the murder of Alfaro Solano.

“We must work quickly,” Francis said to the Solanos on the piazza of the Solano hacienda.

“We must save him!” Leoncia cried out.

“All Gringos look alike to the Jefe,” Francis said. She was splendidly beautiful and wonderful, he thought. “He’ll give Henry no more time than he gave us. We must get him out tonight.”

“Now listen,” Leoncia began again. “We Solanos cannot permit this… this execution. Our pride… our honor. We cannot permit it. Speak! Any of you. Father! Suggest something…”

And while Enrico Solano and his sons talked plans and projects, a house servant came, whispered in Leoncia’s ear, and led her away.

Around the corner, Alvarez Torres, in all the medieval Spanish splendor of dress, greeted her, bowed low with a sombrero in hand.

“The trial is over, Leoncia,” he said softly, tenderly, as one speaks of the dead. “He is sentenced. [50] Tomorrow at ten o’clock is the time. It is all very sad, most very sad. But…” He shrugged his shoulders. “No, I shall not speak harshly of him. He was an honorable man. His one fault was his temper. It was too quick, too fiery.”

“He never killed my uncle!” Leoncia cried.

“And it is regrettable,” Torres said gently and sadly, avoiding any disagreement. “The judge, the people, the Jefe Politico, unfortunately, are all united in believing that he did. Which is most regrettable. But I came to offer my service in any and all ways you may command. My life, my honor, are at your disposal. Speak. I am your slave.”

Dropping suddenly and gracefully on one knee before her, he caught her hand from her lap.

“I knew you when you were small, Leoncia, so very, very charmingly small, and I loved you always. No, listen! Please. My heart must speak. When you returned from schooling abroad, a woman, a grand and noble lady, I was burnt by your beauty. I have been patient. I refrained from speaking.”

She listened patiently. Henry… And Francis… Why did this stranger Gringo so enamore her heart? Was she a wanton? Was it one man? Or another man? Or any man? No! No! She was not fickle nor unfaithful. And yet?… Perhaps it was because Francis and Henry were so much alike, and her poor stupid loving woman’s heart failed properly to distinguish between them. And she could follow Henry anywhere over the world, but now she would follow Francis even farther. She loved Henry, her heart solemnly proclaimed. But she loved Francis, too. There was a difference in her love for the two men; so she, the latest and only woman of the house of Solano, was a wanton.

Torres continued:

“You have been the delicious thorn in my heart. I have dreamed of you… and for you. And I have my own name for you. The Queen of my Dreams. And you will marry me, my Leoncia! We will forget this mad Gringo who is as already dead. [51] I shall be gentle, kind. I shall love you always. For you… I shall love you so that it will be impossible for the memory of him to arise between us and.”

Leoncia was silent. How to save Henry? Torres offered his services.

“Speak!” Torres urged.

“Hush! Hush!” she said softly. “How can I listen to you, when the man I loved is yet alive?”

Loved! The past tense of it! She had said “loved”. She had loved him, but no longer. Torres was glad. The one thing is clear: if he wants to win Leoncia quickly, Henry Morgan must die quickly.

“We will speak of it no more… now,” he said with gentleness, as he gently pressed her hand, and rose to his feet.

“Come,” she said. “We will join the others. They are planning now, or trying to find some plan, to save Henry Morgan.”