He was in the very act of flinging the disc to one side when his eye happened to roam across the garden, amongst its trampled bushes and shrubs, once so neat and so brilliant with blooms, and now almost bare of leaves, for the reason that the starving people had plucked and eaten them. He started and raised his head. Then his eye flashed a message, and he stared at the disc once more. For he had seen Roger. The figure of the giant cacique had appeared as he crawled from one bush to another, and this head priest, in his hideous tattered robe of red, who had once so nearly killed Roger, determined to befriend him.
"Let justice be done," he said to himself. "For me there is no life. I feared death a moment ago, though I have nothing to live for. But my lord the noble white man has much before him. He is bold. He has given strength, wisdom, and almost life itself for our cause, and it is but just that we should give him the promised reward. He shall have it. While I can I will read the secret and will show the treasure, leaving him to deal with these rogues. Give me the disc," he said aloud. "The place is near at hand, that I know, but where I cannot say till I have read the picture."
For a little while he stared at the disc, tracing the lines of the causeways with his finger. What he saw there that Roger and others had failed to detect it would be impossible to state, but suddenly he gave a cry, while Alvarez gave vent to an exclamation of pleasure.
"He reads the secret," he said hoarsely, his eyes almost starting from his head, so great was his eagerness. "Come, now, sir priest, hasten, or these other birds of prey will be down upon me. Show me the wealth, for I wish to secure it for myself alone."
One of the natives who acted as guard to the priest rapidly interpreted, Alvarez taking the priest by his robe in his anxiety to hurry him on to the treasure.
"They are getting closer," he cried. "Listen to their shouts. They will be here, if you are not speedy. Where is the hoard?"
His anxiety to be moving was pitiful. He trembled, stared about him as if he were hunted, and stamped with impatience. Then to his huge delight the priest moved.
"I have read the secret," he said. "The disc tells where the treasure is deposited. 'Tis close at hand. Follow, and I will take you to it."
He cast a significant glance at the spot where Roger had last been seen, and smiled grimly in his beard as he noted that the white cacique had come even closer. Then he turned on his heel and swept on through the garden.
"Follow!" he called out. "To the treasure-house."
There was no need for him to bid the Spaniard to follow, for the anxiety of the traitor who had so nearly slain Roger with his treacherous dagger impelled him forward till he outstripped the priest. Then he took him again by the robe and pulled him on, dragged him through the garden, and on to where one of the many sacrificial towers lifted its lofty walls above the buildings. It was surrounded by a low wall of glazed tiles, and its pavements and steps were constructed in a manner which showed that it was of special design.
"The king's tower," said the priest, by way of explanation. "He worships here alone. See the smoke of the fire which burns on the altar. Let the Spaniard mount. I will follow as swiftly as I can. I am weak with fasting."
He stood aside to allow Alvarez to pass him, and then, helped by his guard, slowly ascended the steps which encircled the building. And after them came Roger, his tall, gaunt frame pressed against the wall to keep out of sight, and his sword in his hand. He was breathing hard. Every stair seemed as if it would be too much for him, for he had fought hard. He had never during the long days of the siege saved himself in the slightest, and had borne the same privations as had the common people. The exertion and the excitement were almost too much for him. But he thought of the reward, of the knights who had helped to send him to this Terra Firma, and of his comrades. If he escaped to the coast and gained a ship, how miserable to reach home empty handed, to arrive at the port of London with a tale of this siege, and with the report of lost riches. Would they be believed? Would the folks in London city credit the fact that the simple crossbow youth had risen to such high places, and had had the promise of huge wealth? No! They would be thought to be mad. Solid facts would be necessary to convince them. Gold and jewels and pearls. Roger determined to make one last struggle, and bracing himself for it, slowly followed up the stairs. He reached the very top and halted, his body concealed by an ornamental ledge which fringed the edge of the tower. Then he sought for some object behind which he could obtain cover, and from which he could observe what was passing. There was a huge stone vase for flowers near at hand, only the flowers had long since dwindled away, no one having had time or the strength to attend to their watering during the siege. But it would form an excellent obstruction, and our hero crept behind it. Then he slowly lifted his head, and looked on to the square court at the top of the tower. There stood the scarlet-robed priest, obviously delaying so that the white cacique might have time to follow, while Alvarez stood beside him eager, excited, scarcely able to keep still, so much was he roused. But Roger noticed that he had lost the old hunted appearance. He no longer stared about him, looking now over this shoulder and now over that. Once, indeed, he walked to the ledge and stared over into the garden, but a glance satisfied him that none of the Spaniards followed. He returned, therefore, rubbing his hands together with pleasure, and muttering to himself.
"At last!" he was saying. "I have waited, and I have plotted, and not in vain. Here is reward for all the dangers I have run, for the risk I took when I lay off Cuba for the British ship. At last I shall see a fortune, and I alone of all who are here shall return to Spain with wealth. What is conquest without it? Even Fernando Cortes will envy me. But—supposing that English giant knew? He promised to slay me for the blow I dealt him. That I know, for it was told me. Ah, perhaps he is dead. I will ask the priest. Come, sir priest," he said aloud, addressing the man in scarlet, "tell me of this giant who led you. Is he dead?"
"Not dead," was the answer, "but starving—worn out with the struggle. Do not trouble about him now, but come. I have the key to the treasure. The picture directs me to the summit of this temple. There is a wall before me. I step to it like this, and stand with my toes against it, with the tips of the fingers of my right hand just level with the corner. Then I sweep them so above my head till I come to a ledge. Here it is, my lord. And on the ledge—" (he fumbled there till his fingers came in contact with an object, and he withdrew a heavy bar of glittering metal, somewhat tarnished by exposure to the weather)—"on the ledge a bar of gold. I turn to the left, and step to the nearest door. It is here. I enter, and within search for a hole which will accept this bar. The picture shows it before me as I enter. Stand aside there, dogs who have helped to ruin this fair country. You keep the light from the chamber. Now enter, my lord, and the natives can follow if you wish it. Ah, here is the aperture. I place the bar within it and press. It gives. Enter again to this inner chamber, where you will find the treasure."
The priest stood back, lifting his arms as he did so, and pointing to a narrow aperture which had suddenly opened in what would appear to have been solid masonry. But a closer inspection showed that it was merely imitation—that the wall was painted to represent stonework, and that a portion, exquisitely made, was designed to swing outwards. Through the opening thus disclosed could be seen a chamber of small proportions, lit by rays which came from small niches in the outside walls. A closer inspection showed that it swept to the left out of sight, while, more engaging sight still to Alvarez, there were piles of loose stones within, and beyond those a heap of golden ornaments set with stones, and of crude gold struck into rough bars. It was a sight, in fact, to make the blood of the Spaniard course swiftly through his veins.
"The treasure!" he gasped. "The treasure for which I have longed! Bar the door, dogs! Hold the priest, and let none enter while I am within. Remember! Let no one follow. If a question is asked, say that no Spaniard is here. Wait, and I will return in a few minutes."
He stepped to the opening and clambered through. Then the native guards closed about the doorway, so cutting off escape for the priest. But they kept no watch on the terrace outside. They failed to see the creeping giant who had emerged from behind the vase, while Roger himself, intent on treasure also and on the payment of his debt, kept no watch on the stairs by which he had ascended. He did not see the crafty figure which had tracked him to the terrace, the figure of a Spaniard to whom some inkling of the plot had come from Alvarez when in his cups, the figure of a Spaniard determined to share the treasure at the very least, and, if possible, if his hand could strike the blow, to take all for himself.
Alvarez de Logas was spellbound. The highest flight of his imagination had never conjured up such a scene, such vast wealth as was displayed in the treasure chamber. He stood aghast, more perturbed by the sight of so much gold and so many jewels, than he had been at the thought of losing even a portion of the riches to be gained by coming to Mexico. He stood rooted to the spot, now inclined to fling himself upon the gems which sparkled in the light which came through the apertures in the walls, and a moment later scarcely resisting the inclination to rush upon the massive golden vessels with the shining orbs set into their sides. His hand went to his head, and he lifted his steel cap, while the fingers of his other hand passed through the wisp of hair which clung to his scalp.
"The treasure! At last the treasure!" he gasped. "Riches enough to make me the highest noble in all Spain, wealthier even than the king. Here is comfort for my old age, and honour, honour such as comes not even to men like Fernando Cortes, for wealth brings everything in its train. I will take the gems alone, for those I can carry. But no! I cannot leave the gold. To do so would be a sin. I have bearers in plenty. All shall be mine!"
The sound of his voice startled him, for in his excitement he raised his tones almost to a shriek. But now he was frightened. The old fears returned to him, and he stared back at the door, and then ran to it, peering through the narrow opening into the chamber beyond, where the guards stood, listening to the shrieks of the unfortunate Mexicans below, and to the triumphal shouts of the native allies as they slaughtered the unhappy people. They showed on their faces that they longed to be gone, while the scarlet-cloaked priest also looked steadily to the door, as if he were also listening and expecting something. A suspicion crossed the mind of Alvarez. He looked sharply at his captive, who had read the secret of the disc for him. Then his eye went back to the treasure, and that conquered. The sight of the glittering gems and of the piled-up gold drove all fear and suspicion from his mind. He recollected nothing beside the fact that he was actually in the treasure-house, wading in the riches for which he had sought so long, for which he had plotted and schemed, and for which he had not hesitated to risk his own life and to attempt to take that of another. Every night he had dreamed of this great day, and now—
"Mine!" he shouted. "All mine! I will look round. I will touch the wealth, and then I will devise how to take it away."
He fell on his knees beside the gems, and let them trickle through his fingers. He picked out the largest and the finest stones, held them to the light, and set them aside. Then he poured handful after handful within his cotton-padded jerkin.
"A fortune within my shirt!" he chuckled. "A fortune with which to buy position and power, even should the other treasure fail to come to hand. And now for the other riches."
He crawled on hands and knees round the chamber, oblivious of all that was passing outside, unmindful of the awful slaughter then taking place, and deaf to the shouts of the combatants and to the thunder of the guns. "Gold! Gold and gems! Riches! Power! Honour in his native land. Pride of family, where he had had none!" These words alone rang in his ears. He was intoxicated with success, and if he had reared golden castles in the air on former occasions since he had stolen the famous disc, they were studded with brilliants this time. They towered to the very heavens, and on every battlement and arch glittering flags blew out with those same words embroidered upon them. "Riches! Power beyond all the dreams of a rapacious avarice! Plenty for the future! No toil! But power! A position of command in place of the humble post he had filled in former days! Wealth sufficient to make him the friend and intimate of nobles and king!"
What wonder if this Spanish soldier went crazy at the astounding wealth set out at his feet! What wonder that he forgot the siege of Mexico, forgot in this supreme moment all his caution, the scheming and the cunning which he had been so careful to practise. All through he had thrown dust in the eyes of his comrades, just as he had deceived the English aboard the brigantine. Not once in his waking conscious moments had he let fall a syllable of his great secret. He had waited, silent and watchful, for the end of the siege, and only once had his caution been relaxed. He had been tried, and the native pulque pleased his palate. He had drunk deeply, and, roused by the potent drink, had whispered something which had aroused a suspicion, for it is only dead men who tell no tales. Alvarez in his cups was a live man, robbed of caution for the moment, and that moment was destined to be his ruin; for, outside, creeping up the stairway of the tower, came a Spaniard, that one who had overheard his drunken words. He followed his comrade, having gained news of his whereabouts. But he knew nothing of Roger, though, in a little while, when he rounded the next curve, and ascended a few more steps, the figure of the crouching giant would come into view.
Tap! Something fell on the tiled pavement on the summit of the tower, and Roger raised his head and started at the sound. His head shot up above the vase, and he peeped out.
"A crossbow bolt here!" he said to himself in astonishment. "And it is of our own manufacture. I can tell that by the bright colour of the feathers."
The sight caused him to think, and, for the moment, led his thoughts away from the task he had in hand. He pondered, but famine had dulled his wits. He was too weak to look further into a matter which could not be of importance, and he was therefore in the act of crouching again when a second bolt fell at his feet.
"A second! Then it must be a signal. Who can have fired it?"
He was at once alert, conscious that danger threatened from some unknown quarter, and he promptly crept to the edge of the tower and looked over. There was a figure crouching in the garden bushes below, a figure which waved frantically to him. Then it started from its lair and staggered to the steps, gesticulating, pointing to the side of the tower.
"Tamba!" exclaimed Roger. "The faithful fellow has shadowed me through the siege, and has followed here, and he sees something wrong. Some one may be following."
Quick as thought he ran across the square summit of the tower and hid behind the altar, upon which, no doubt, many an unhappy wretch had been sacrificed. But Roger had no time to think of that. His eyes were on the top of the stairs, and they opened even wider with amazement as a second Spaniard appeared, creeping stealthily, and peering ahead as if he feared detection. This man was in his stockinged feet, and when he saw that the summit was untenanted, he rose to the upright position and raced across to the door through which Alvarez and the priest had gone. He tore the curtain aside and looked in. Then he gave vent to a shout.
"Found! By our Lady, found!" he cried at the top of his voice. "The silent, secret Alvarez is discovered by his friend, and will divide. I see gold and jewels. Gold and stones enough for a score, and sufficient for you and me. I am silent if you consent to a division, if not—"
The triumphant smile which his features had worn vanished, and he drew his sword. Then he peered in at the wealth, and a crafty, covetous grin caused the corners of his mouth to twitch.
"Why divide?" he said in low tones. "Why give half to a craven such as he, when there is all for the man who can take it? I can beat him. I can play him with my sword, and in these times tales do not pass."
He stood there a moment longer looking in at Alvarez, while the latter stared at his one-time friend as if he were a ghost. Not yet had he been able to tear his mind and thoughts away from the wealth in which he stood; but the glint of the sword told him of danger, and that brought him to his senses.
"Begone!" he growled. "This is mine! I found it. I slaved for the disc, and risked my life, and I will not divide."
Then the voice of caution whispered to him, and he spoke again—
"Begone at once," he said huskily, "and for your silence I will give sufficient to make you a man of wealth."
"Divide!" cried the intruder, advancing into the room.
"Never! It is mine. I will hold it with my sword."
Alvarez was now fully alive to his danger, and saw the threatening attitude of the Spaniard. He drew his weapon briskly, and clambered through the opening, his eyes fixed on the intruder. There was an ugly scowl on his wizened face, while his teeth were set firmly. He had a stake to fight for, as well as his life, and, as he clambered from the treasure chamber, he was determined to win or die.
"Retire," he said sternly. "I will carry out my compact. Go at once, and keep silent if you desire to be rich."
"I shall stay," was the answer. "You have found the gold. I shall take it from you. Put up your sword and fight for its possession. If that is not to your liking retire now and keep your tongue still, or I shall have something to say. But I promise to give you enough to buy wealth in Spain—wealth and a proud position."
There were no words after that. The full bitterness of his position came to Alvarez with a shock, and if he had been nearly crazy a few minutes before at the thought of the hoard which he had captured, he went entirely mad now as the dreadful truth was forced upon his mind. He was about to be robbed. Death were better than that. He raised his sword and rushed on his enemy. Sparks flew from the steel, and Roger, who had now crept to the door, heard the crash as the blades met. Then the intruder was forced to give way. He retreated before the blind fury of Alvarez, defending himself with difficulty. And soon they passed through the door, tearing the curtain from its fastenings, and continued the contest in the open air.
"Die!" shouted Alvarez, striking a frenzied blow. "Die, you rogue, who thought to rob me!"
He took two hands to his sword and swung it over his head. Then he brought the blade down with a crash which would have killed his opponent had he not raised his own weapon to ward off the cut. The blades met with a resounding crash, and then the Spanish steel gave way. Half Alvarez's sword tinkled on to the pavement.
"The wealth is mine! The reward comes to me!" shouted his opponent.
He sprang at his enemy with a bound which carried him to close quarters. And then, while the unfortunate Alvarez still stood looking at his fractured blade, he drove his own weapon through his body.
"Die yourself!" shouted the Spaniard "Die, and so keep a silent tongue for ever! I will take care of the treasure."
He looked at his victim, who lay dead already, and then swung round to go into the treasure chamber. But the figure of the English giant stood there, gaunt and unnaturally slim, hollow-cheeked and deadly pale, but cool, calm, and collected, and wearing a smile as he handled his stout English sword.
"The treasure is mine," said Roger, softly. "I held the disc for those who sent me here, and this man stole it from me. It comes back to me, and with it the treasure. Dispute my word if you dare."
The Spaniard was staggered. Just as Alvarez had stood rooted to the spot at the sudden sight of the treasure, he remained staring at Roger, hardly able to believe his eyes. Then he gave vent to a snarl of rage, and gripped his sword.
"You starved dog!" he said. "Dispute the word of a man who is already more than half in his grave!"
He lifted his weapon over his shoulder, took in a deep breath, and made ready to attack. But there were others watching, and before he could stir a step there was a twang of a bow, and a shaft struck him full in the chest. In an instant he was down on the tiles, struggling feebly, and when Roger went to him and knelt at his side he found him just dead, for Tamba's missile had done its work.
"He is dead," said Roger, as he rose to his feet, "and Alvarez has received his just reward. There is nothing to keep me now from the treasure if the priest has shown it. Stay outside, Tamba, and cut down any of the natives who attempt to escape."
"None will do that," said the voice of the priest, as he emerged from the chamber. "These men here, who are my enemies, dare not to touch you, who are their god of air. You and the native are safe, and you have time to pick and choose. Enter and select the gems; then let us go."
Roger understood him sufficiently well, for he had had some weeks' intercourse with the Mexicans now, and had picked up their tongue. He needed no second invitation, but plunged into the chamber, and from there into the treasure-house. As in the case of Alvarez, his eyes gaped with astonishment. But Roger had not set wealth before everything; and, moreover, while coveting this treasure and hoping for the promised reward, he had done so with the pure desire to do his duty by those at home who had borne the expense of the expedition. When they were satisfied he would take his share, and not before. But here was such an abundance.
"Even King Hal has no wealth to compare with this," he cried. "There is abundance for all here. Stones and gold, and the latter is heavy. I shall leave it and take the stones."
"The curtain would make a sack, master, and there are the shirts of the Spaniards," suddenly exclaimed Tamba, who had joined him. "Then there are the linen jerkins of the natives."
"And the red robe of the priest," added Roger, "Quick! Let us call them all in and get away."
He went to the narrow opening and beckoned to the priest, giving him the necessary instructions. Then he set to work to select the finest gems, choosing those which were largest, for he had no knowledge of the correct colours.
"Here alone stands a fortune," he cried, as his eye lit upon the gems set aside by the avaricious Alvarez. "All picked for me by the very man who attempted to rob us of this spoil. Gather them together, Tamba, and tie them in a corner of the curtain. I will select some of the gold vessels, for they will convince those at home of the truth of our tale. That is, should we have the fortune to return. Now, the curtain and the shirts. Quick, for there is little time to waste."
"They are here, my lord. I will enter and help to hand them out. But hark!"
"The horn!" Roger shouted, as the plaintive note which, on a former day, had roused the Mexicans to fight for their king, came to his ear. "The signal for all who are left to retreat to the landing-stage."
"And for us to go also, my lord. Quick! Gather the jewels and let us go, otherwise we shall be killed, and then what service will this trash do you?"
They worked as if every second were of the utmost value, as indeed it was. The curtain was spread on the ground, and handfuls of gems tossed in, while Tamba had already tied some of the largest into a corner. Then Roger threw a few of the finest gold cups and bowls into the heap, while the priest added the disc.
"Let the picture which holds the secret go too," he said bitterly. "Who knows? In years to come it may be the only sample of our writing which remains. It may outlive this fallen nation."
"Pick up the curtain," cried Roger, and in a moment Tamba had it on his back, and was climbing through the opening. Then came the priest with the shirt of the unfortunate Alvarez, while Roger followed with his own jerkin well laden. They had as much now as they could well carry, and the addition of another load, which was fetched by one of the natives, completed their burden.
"To the stage," said Roger, shortly. "And, priest, can we trust these men?"
"They will die rather than break their promise to me, or harm you," was the answer. "You have the Spaniards alone to fear. Forward, and let us get out of this awful city. The ruins strike grief into my mind. I would that I had been killed at the commencement rather than live to see this fair place levelled in ruins. Forward to the stage."
They staggered down the stairs, out through the garden, and then by a little-known corridor through the palace. Then they had to traverse a few streets before reaching the landing-stage. Thousands of natives were about, but these took no notice of the party, seeing their comrades with it. Soon the stage was in sight, and Roger gave vent to a cry of dismay.
"The Spaniards are there already," he said with a groan. "They will cut us off. Look, they are bearing down with their swords and their pikes."
"Roger! Roger de Luce!"
A tall man, dressed in the native costume, but obviously one of the Englishmen, stood on the very edge of the stage shouting for our hero. Beside him lay one of the double canoes with a crew of rowers, while farther off in the water street others lay on their oars, containing the king and other nobles. But none would leave till the white cacique had come. Philip stood there, port-fire in hand, shouting his name, while he eyed the two cannon which had been captured early in the siege. Little ammunition remained, and that had been carefully husbanded for the very last occasion. Philip had trained the guns on that part by which the Spaniards would approach, and he stood there, watching them as they ran, prepared to fire at them, and so give his friend a few seconds more in which to reach the boats.
"He is killed!" he shouted in despairing tones. "He must be dead, or he would have come before. But I will not stir yet. Blow the horn again. Sound another note, and let us see if that will not bring him."
"He is here already. See! He and his party come, and they have the treasure."
It was Teotlili who caught him by the sleeve and drew his attention to the approaching party. Then together they shouted to Roger and his bearers to hasten. A minute later all but Philip were safely aboard the canoe.
"The king?" gasped Roger, touching Teotlili's arm.
"He is there. All who are alive are aboard," was the answer. "Listen to the last shot of the siege."
He pointed to Philip, and Roger raised his head, watching his friend as he trained the weapons on the advancing Spaniards. He glanced along the sights, blew at his port-fire, and then waited till a musket bullet sped past his cheek. Then he touched the vents and leaped into the canoe.
"Row!" shouted Teotlili. "Row out into the lake!"
They pushed off as the cannon exploded, scattering a murderous charge of stones amongst the Spaniards. Then the crew thrust their paddles into the water and sent the craft along. Worn out though they were, and more than half starved, they managed to summon sufficient strength for the task, and very soon were out on the great lake. It was getting dusk, and thanks to that, this canoe managed to reach the far shore without attracting the attention of the enemy. And there they learned that the king and a few of his nobles had been captured, while fourteen of the Englishmen were gathered there in addition to Roger. Some thousands of the Mexicans had also reached the shore, and stood there disconsolate.
"Scatter at once," called out Teotlili. "Make for the hills, and wait there for news of the king. Do not stay here longer, for in the morning the enemy will cover the plain. Now, my lord," he said, turning to Roger. "What are your commands? You have served us faithfully, you and your friends. The reward you have with you is far too mean, and too small to repay you; for such as it is it is yours by right. Where will you take it? There is no longer need for your arms in this unhappy country."
"Then lead us to the coast," answered our hero. "Take us to Vera Cruz, where we may be able to capture a vessel."
Without loss of time the noble gave the necessary orders, picking out a number of men who had acted as the king's bodyguard, and who were in fairly good condition. Then he placed a guide at the head, and bade the whole lot advance. Two days later they came in sight of the Spanish town of Vera Cruz, which had risen like a mushroom, as if in one night, the labour being undertaken by the natives. There were ships in the roadstead, and a spy reported that but few white men remained there to guard the place, the remainder having gone to Mexico.
What need to tell more! Roger and his friends, though almost worn out, made one last effort and captured the very brigantine in which they had sailed from England. They embarked with their treasure, and two days later put in at a creek some hundred miles down the coast, where, with the help of friendly natives, they revictualled the ship as well as possible, placing aboard sufficient fruits and herbs to last them for some weeks. Then came the hour of parting. Tamba stood beside his master, while Teotlili stepped into the canoe alongside.
He dared not look back once he had taken his farewell, and there were tears in Roger's eyes at the parting.
Five weeks later the brigantine put in at the port of London, her crew looking more like scarecrows than like British sailors. But they had improved in condition during the voyage, thanks to two calls made during their run along the northern coast of South America. But clothes they had none to speak of, and so it was a day before they could venture from the vessel. Then Roger, the acknowledged leader, with Philip beside him, and Peter Tamworth bringing up the rear, and watching over Tamba and the load he carried, made their way to the palace of King Henry.
The whole of England rang with the tale of their exploit, and Roger and his comrades met with due honour. But little was said of the jewels and the wealth, for it would have been unwise to rouse the ire of Spain. Still, Roger had done good work for those who had organized the expedition, and they did not forget. Our hero won fame and a knighthood and sufficient wealth to permit of his buying a fine estate in the country and a house in the city of London. And there Tamba went with him; while Philip and Peter, now both men of means and consequence, came often to speak of the old days, of the Spaniards, and of the one-time fairy city of Mexico. Then they would fill their leathern jugs, to which they still clung for the sake of old acquaintance, and would drink in silence to those who were gone, to the gallant souls who had fought beside them, and to those fine natives of Mexico who had struggled under the leadership of Roger the Bold.
PRINTED AND BOUND IN GREAT BRITAIN
By Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow
"F. S. Brereton is a famous hand with adventures of every sort."—Morning Post.
The Armoured-car Scouts: A Tale of the Campaign in the Caucasus.
On the Road to Bagdad: A Story of the British Expeditionary Force in Mesopotamia.
A Hero of Sedan: A Tale of the Franco-Prussian War.
On the Field of Waterloo.
Foes of the Red Cockade: A Story of the French Revolution.
Roger the Bold: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico.
With French at the Front: A Story of the Great European War down to the Battle of the Aisne.
With Joffre at Verdun: A Story of the Western Front.
Under Foch's Command: A Tale of the Americans in France.
With the Allies to the Rhine: A Story of the Finish of the War.
Tom Stapleton, the Boy Scout.
With Allenby in Palestine: A Story of the Latest Crusade.
Under Haig in Flanders: A Story of Vimy, Messines, and Ypres.
Under French's Command: A Story of the Western Front from Neuve Chapelle to Loos.
The Great Airship: A Tale of Adventure.
From the Nile to the Tigris: A Story of Campaigning from Western Egypt to Mesopotamia.
At Grips with the Turk: A Story of the Dardanelles Campaign.
A Boy of the Dominion: A Tale of Canadian Immigration.
Tom Stapleton, the Boy Scout.
Roger the Bold: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico.
Indian and Scout.
Rough Riders of the Pampas.
In the King's Service: A Tale of Cromwell's Invasion of Ireland.
With Shield and Assegai: A Tale of the Zulu War.
With Rifle and Bayonet: A Tale of the Boer War.
The Dragon of Pekin: A Tale of the Boxer Revolt.
One of the Fighting Scouts: A Tale of Guerilla Warfare in South Africa.
A Knight of St. John: A Tale of the Siege of Malta.
The Great Aeroplane.
A Boy of the Dominion.
LONDON: BLACKIE & SON,Ltd., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.