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sir," he warned, his words like cold steel. "This is none of your affair."
    "I disagree. Is this a republic, or a monarchy? The former is antithetical to the latter. Yet, in recent weeks, during my sojourn in the South, I have begun to wonder if the United States of America is a republic at all. I have seen tyranny, aristocracy, hereditary privilege, restrictive land tenure, and servile obedience enforced by repressions. And you, sir, you must be a prince of this aristocracy, since by your whim a man can lose his life."
    Horan darkened. "I find your words insulting, McKinn."
    "These are the facts which insult you." Delgado took a step closer and planted the derringer's double barrel in Horan's rib cage. "If this man hangs, Horan," he said, pitching his voice so low that only Horan could hear him, "you won't be alive to see it."
    For a moment Horan made no move. He searched Delgado's face for any clue that this might be a bluff. There was no such clue. Delgado knew he might very well have to kill Horan. The man's towering pride might not permit him to back down, especially in the presence of so many witnesses. But Delgado realized that he could notback down either, if for no other reason than that Jeremiah Rankin's life depended on him. So he kept his nerve and did not flinch from the malevolence in Horan's gaze.
    "Let the man go," Sterling told the two men who were restraining the abolitionist. "Let him go, or Horan's blood will be on your hands."
    It was a clever stratagem. If Horan died, they would be responsible, because Sterling suspected, as did they, that Horan would not submit, preferring death to dishonor. This was a code they understood and strove to live by. The honorable course for them would be to release Rankin and save the life of their friend.
    They let Rankin go. One of them removed the rope from around the abolitionist's neck. "I will turn him over to the authorities in St. Louis," he told Sterling curtly as he flung the rope over the railing.
    The second man turned to Horan. "Come on, Brent," he said softly with a wary glance at Delgado and his pistol.
    "This is not the end," Horan told Delgado and turned briskly away.
    Delgado pocketed the derringer and went to the railing, feeling suddenly nauseated, hoping only that he did not show it. Below him in the brown water between the hull of the
Sultana
and the old wharf, the rope slowly squirmed in the river's current like a long snake. Delgado stared at the rope, unaware of all else about him. When Sterling put a hand on his shoulder he flinched.
    "That was a brave act, McKinn," said the newspaperman. "And it just may yet get you killed."
    "Something had to be done. We have to live with ourselves. I think that would have been adifficult proposition had we stood by and watched a man hanged for no good reason."
    "Slavery." Sterling shook his head. "It is an issue tearing at the very fabric of our nation. But Horan will not forget, or forgive, what you did. I thought for a moment he might issue a challenge."
    "A duel?"
    Sterling nodded. "It is still quite possible he will have his representative pay a call on you."
    Delgado laughed sharply. "I am no duelist and refuse to become one."
    "Well, perhaps nothing will come of it. Cooler heads may yet prevail. You are an unknown quantity, and that works in your favor. I hope we will meet again in St. Louis, before you leave for Taos. Perhaps you will be in the mood for another game of whist. Here is my card."
    Sterling handed him the newspaper he had been carrying and walked away.
    Delgado opened the newspaper. It was the
St. Louis Enquirer
, yesterday's edition. A few copies had come up the gangplank at this landing. The banner headline jumped out at him. Men from Commodore Sloat's naval squadron had seized the California ports of Monterey and San Francisco. Mexican troops were reported to be massing in the Los Angeles area, preparing to march against the American interlopers. A great and decisive battle was