and as she did so an arm encircled her.

"El Diablo Cojuelo has captured the prize of his lifetime!" said a deep
voice triumphantly.

Myra's heart seemed to miss a beat as she felt the outlaw's arm tighten
around her, panic seized her, and she had to fight the inclination to
scream, and scream and scream.

"You are trembling, little lady," said the muffled voice of her captor.
"Do not be so sore afraid. I am not the fiend people make El Diablo
Cojuelo out to be, and will take care of so precious a treasure. Don
Carlos will ransom you, but perhaps when you have seen me and my
mountain nest you will not want to be ransomed."

Myra's natural courage began to reassert itself, and she was ashamed of
having displayed any signs of fear. "Displayed" is hardly the word,
for the inside of the car, which was hurtling along at great speed, was
so dark that she could not even see the shape of the man whose arm
encircled her, and she knew he could not see her.

Somehow, the brigand's voice, muffled though it was--as if he were
speaking with something over his face--struck her as vaguely familiar,
and as Myra collected her scattered wits it occurred to her that El
Diablo Cojuelo had spoken in English.

"A Spanish brigand who speaks English!" she exclaimed aloud, and
Cojuelo laughed.

"Si, senorita!" he answered. "So we shall be able to understand each
other. Don Carlos de Ruiz taught me English, and I imitate his voice
and accent when I am speaking your language. We are really very good
friends, Don Carlos and I, and he bears me no ill-will. I provide him
with amusement, and he would be sorry to see me captured."

"He will certainly bear you ill-will for having kidnapped me, and make
every effort to kill you," retorted Myra, recognising that Cojuelo's
muffled voice did resemble that of Don Carlos.

"Because he loves you?" queried Cojuelo, with a chuckle. "You think he
will be mad because I have robbed him of his heart's desire?"

"How do you know that he loves me?" asked Myra in amazement.

She was no longer terrified, and had recovered her nerve, but she still
found it difficult to believe she was not dreaming. It seemed more
like a nightmare than actuality that she should be sitting in a
pitch-dark car, talking of love and Don Carlos to a Spanish outlaw who
had captured her, and whose arm encircled her waist. She was not
conscious of fear now, but Cojuelo's reply to her question scared her
more than a little.