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.”

“I have a plan, if you will pardon me,[52]” Torres began. He smiled, and twisted his mustache.

“There is one way, the Gringo, Anglo-Saxon way, and it is simple. That is just what it is. We will go and take Henry out of jail in brutal and direct Gringo fashion. It is the one thing they will not expect. Therefore, it will succeed. There are enough rascals on the beach with which we can storm the jail. Hire them, pay them well, but only partly in advance, and the thing is accomplished.”

Leoncia nodded. Old Enrico’s eyes flashed. And all looked to Francis for his opinion or agreement. He shook his head slowly.

“That way is hopeless,” he said. “Why should all of you risk your necks in a mad attempt like that?”

“You mean you doubt me?” Torres bristled. “You mean that I am forbidden by you from the councils of the Solanos who are my oldest and most honored friends.”

Old Enrico began to speak.

“There are no councils of the Solanos from which you are barred, Senor Torres. You are indeed an old friend of the family. Your late father and I were comrades, almost brothers. But truly your plan is hopeless. To storm the jail is truly madness. Look at the thickness of the walls. They could stand a siege of weeks.”

Torres briefly apologized and departed for San Antonio.

“What have you against Senor Torres? Why did you reject his plan and anger him?” Leoncia demanded of Francis.

“Nothing,” was the answer, “except that we do not need him. He is a fool and he will spoil any plan. Maybe he can’t be trusted. I don’t know. Anyway, what’s the good of trusting him when we don’t need him? Now his plan is all right. We’ll go straight to the jail and take Henry out. And we don’t need to trust to rascals. Six men of us can do it.”

“There is a dozen guards at the jail,” Ricardo,[53] Leoncia’s youngest brother, a lad of eighteen, objected.