her hiding-place were brilliantly illuminated and a car stole
silently past at low speed, she seized Paloma by the arm and whispered:

"That's not Lewis."

"Who is it? It can't be Ed."

"No, he and Longorio are ahead of us. It's another motor entirely."

The women got out, then breasted the high grass and brambles between
their hiding-place and the pump-house road. As soon as they were back
in the trail they made all possible speed, speculating meanwhile upon
the mystery of the unknown car. Emerging into the clearing which
surrounded the power-plant, they discovered the machine in question
standing dark and deserted in the shadows. Evidently the driver,
whoever he was, well knew what he was about, and had not blundered upon
this place by accident. A hundred yards away they could now see the
ghostly Rio Grande, its saffron surface faintly silvered by the low
moon; lights gleamed from the windows of Morales's house. In the
distance the vague outlines of the Mexican shore were resolving
themselves, and far beyond winked the evidence that some belated
citizens of Romero were still awake.

Paloma had brought with her the long-barreled Winchester rifle, and
this she clutched nervously as she and Alaire stood whispering.
Conditions were favorable for an approach to the pump-house itself, for
two ridges of earth, perhaps eight feet high, thrown up like parallel
furrows from a giant plow, marked the beginning of the irrigation
ditch, and in the shadow of these the women worked their way forward,
unobserved. They had nearly reached their goal when out into the
clearing behind them, with metallic rattle and clang, burst another
automobile, and Paloma whispered, excitedly:

"There's the Lewis outfit at last."

In the Lewis car were several men. They descended hurriedly, and when
one of them ran around the front of the car to turn off its lights both
women saw that he carried a rifle. Evidently Tad Lewis had come
prepared for desperate measures.

A small door gave entrance to the boiler-room, and into the lock of
this Mrs. Austin fitted a key; the next moment she and Paloma were
safely inside. They found themselves in utter darkness now, with a
smooth brick floor beneath their feet and a strong odor of oil and
burnt fuel in their nostrils.

Alaire was agreeably surprised in Paloma Jones, for, although the girl
was wrought to a pitch of hysterical excitement, she had, nevertheless,
retained her wits; nor had she faltered i