ood.

"They'll never expect us to follow them"--Alaire tried to speak
hopefully--"and we'll drive without lights. Maybe we'll get there in
time, after all." As the machine rolled out through the gate she
elaborated the half-formed plan that had come to her: "The brush is
thick along the river; we can leave the car hidden and steal up to the
pump-house. When we hear the boat coming maybe we can call out in time
to warn your father."

"The moon is rising," Paloma half sobbed. "They'll be sure to see us.
Do you think we're ahead of Tad Lewis?"

"Oh yes. He hasn't had time to get here yet, but--he'll come fast when
he starts. This is the only plan I can think of."

Alaire drove as swiftly as she dared, following the blurred streak of
gray that was the road, and taking the bumps with utter recklessness.
Already the yellow rim of the moon was peering over the horizon to her
right, and by its light she found the road that turned abruptly toward
the Rio Grande, a mile or more distant. The black mud from the last
heavy rain had hardened; the ruts in this side road were deep, and the
car leaped and plunged, flinging its occupants from side to side. Ahead
loomed the dark ridge of the river thickets, a dense rampart of
mesquite, ebony, and coma, with here and there a taller alamo or
hackberry thrusting itself skyward. But even before they were sheltered
from the moonlight Paloma saw the lights of another automobile
approaching along the main-traveled highway behind them--the lights,
evidently, of Tad Lewis's machine. A moment later Alaire's car drove
into the black shadows, but, fearing to switch on her headlights, she
felt her way cautiously between the walls of foliage until at her right
another opening showed, like a narrow arroyo, diverging from the one
they followed. Into this she swerved, regardless of the fact that it
was half grown up with brush. Thorny branches swept the sides of the
machine; rank, dew-soaked grass rose to the height of the tonneau. The
car came to a jolting pause, then the motor ceased its purring, and the
two women sat motionless, listening for the rattle of the on-coming
machine. It had been a short, swift, exciting ride. "Young Ed's"
runabout could not be many minutes ahead of them.

Alaire knew the Tad Lewis car, an old-style, cheap affair, which
advertised its mechanical imperfections by a loud clashing of gears and
a noisy complaint of loose parts; therefore, when the leafy canon walls
behind