curse of God
seemed striking Sonora. A new foreman was now at Soledad, Marto
Cavayso, a hard man and,--it was said, a soldier, but he evidently got
tired of fighting and was taking his rest by managing the horse herds
of Soledad.

"Doesn't look like rest to me," observed Kit. "The Soledad trail looks
pretty well kicked into holes, with wagons, mules, and horsemen."

Isidro volunteered his opinion that work of the devil was going
forward over there.

"Juan Gonsalvo and El Aleman were stealing women in Sonora, and
driving them the south trail for a price," he stated. "But what think
you would be the price for a woman of emerald eyes and white skin
carried up from the south under chains, and a lock to the chain?"

"I reckon you are dreaming the lock and chain part of it, Isidro,"
returned Kit. "Only murderers travel like that."

"_Si_, it is so. There at Soledad it is heard. A killing was done in
the south and Soledad is her prison. But she is beautiful, and the men
are casting lots as to whose she shall be when the guard is gone south
again to Don Jose Perez."

"Ah! they are Don Jose's men, are they? Then the prisoner is guarded
by his orders?"

"Who knows? They tell that she is a lost soul, and fought for a knife
to kill herself, and the padre makes prayers and says hell will be
hers if she does. Elena, who is cook, heard him say that word, and
Elena was once wife to my brother, and she is telling that to
Clodomiro who makes an errand to take her deer meat, and hear of the
strangers. He saw the woman, her bracelets are gold, and her eyes are
green. The padre calls her Dona Jocasta. I go now and give drink to
that burro and make him happy."

"Jocasta, eh? Dona Jocasta!" repeated Kit in wondering meditation.
"Doesn't seem possible--but reckon it is, and there are no real
surprises in Sonora. Anything could, and does happen here."

He remembered Pike telling the story of Jocasta one morning by their
camp fire in the desert. She was called by courtesy Senora Perez. He
had not heard her father's name, but he was a Spanish priest and her
mother an Indian half-breed girl--some little village in the sierras.
There were two daughters, and the younger was blond as a child of Old
Spain, Jocasta was the elder and raven dark of hair, a skin of deep
cream, and jewel-green eyes. Kit had heard three men, including
Isidro, speak of Dona Jocasta, and each had mentioned the wonderful
green eyes--no one ever seemed to forget the