Quetzal by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781934943182
Amazon: 1934943185
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1937-02-15T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI. BULLETS AT SUNRISE

DAY was breaking above the high Sierras that towered east of Ensenada. There was stir at the presidio. Soldiers were jesting, as they watched events. Death at dawn was always a matter that carried irony, here at Ensenada. It was an old saying that prisoners at this presidio were fortunate. They had longer to live than in other parts of Mexico, because the high mountains delayed the rising of the sun.

Lieutenant Coroza was standing alone at the door of a small building. Stiffly, the young officer awaited the arrival of an approaching squad. The soldiers broke ranks when they arrived. Coroza ordered them through the doorway. There, the members of the firing squad picked up rifles from the rack where Coroza had arranged them.

Coroza marched the armed squad to the prison. Guards produced The Shadow, turned him over to the executioners. His lips twitching, Coroza gave an order for the march. Between two files, The Shadow was conducted to the execution field at the rear wall of the presidio.

Close behind the firing squad shambled a trio of squatly Indians, carrying spades and pick-axes. They were to have the job of burial. An antiquated truck came along, to act as hearse. Colonel Laplata always buried his dead outside the presidio. The commandant claimed that it was poor business to make a cemetery out of a military encampment. The colonel was always looking forward to some revolution, so that he could suppress it with wholesale executions.

The firing squad had reached the wall.

A mounted orderly galloped from the commandant's headquarters, pulled up beside Lieutenant Coroza and showed him a paper. The lieutenant nodded; the orderly rode slowly back toward headquarters. Hands close to his saddle, he grinned as he tore the paper and let its pieces flutter in the wind.

The order was a mere routine one, that the commandant had told the orderly to show to Coroza; then destroy. In a pocket of his uniform, the orderly had a more important document. It was the filled and signed blank, calling for Lieutenant Coroza to stay the execution.

IN his office, Colonel Laplata had visitors. The Presidente of Ensenada had arrived with members of the town council. In an all-night session, they had decided to protest against the interference of the military. The commandant was pleased to see these visitors.

“You are right, senores,” he told them. “Already, I have thought the matter over. This morning, I have changed it. Look, here is my orderly returning.”

The orderly was saluting from the door. Coolly, the commandant inquired:

“You showed the order to Lieutenant Coroza?”

“Yes, sir. He returned it to me.”

The orderly brought out the signed blank and tendered it to the commandant. Laplata showed the countermand to his visitors, and added lightly:

“This has relieved Lieutenant Coroza from a painful duty. Soon, he will march Rembole back to the prison cell.”

From his desk, the commandant could glimpse the distant firing squad –a sight which the others could not see. His quick glance caught the flash of rifle barrels, tiny at that distance; the guns were being raised to firing position.

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