or Americano, even Death will not welcome me, and
neither steel nor lead will serve me!"

"Life will serve you better, senora."

"Not yet has it done so, and I am a woman--old--old! I am twenty,
senor, and refused of Death! Jocasta Benicia they named me. Jocasta
Perdida it should have been to fit the soul of me, so why should I
promise a man whom I do not know that I will cherish my life when I
would not promise a padre? Answer me that, senor whose name has not
been told me!"

"But you will promise, senora," insisted Kit, smiling a little, though
thrilled by the sadness of life's end at twenty, "and as for names, if
you are Dona Perdida I may surely name myself Don Esperenzo, for I
have not only hope, but conviction, that life is worth living!"

"To a man, yes, and Mexico is a man's land."

"Ay, it must be yours as well,--beautiful that thou art!" murmured
Valencia adoringly. "You should not give yourself a name of sadness,
for this is our Senor El Pajarito, who is both gay and of honesty.
He,--with God,--is your protection, and harm shall not be yours."

Dona Jocasta reached out and touched kindly the bent head of the
Indian woman.

"As you will, mother. With hope and a singer for a shield, even a
prison would not be so bad, El Pajarito, eh? Do you make songs--or
sing them, senor?"

"Neither,--I am only a lucky bluff. My old partner and I used to sing
fool things to the mules, and as we could out-bray the burros my Indio
friends are kind and call it a singing;--as easy as that is it to get
credit for talent in this beneficent land of yours! But--the compact,
senora?"

Her brows lifted wearily, yet the hint of a smile was in her eyes.

"Yes, since you ask so small a thing, it is yours. Jocasta makes
compact with you; give me a wish that the life is worth it."

"Sure I will," said Kit holding out his hand, but she shrunk
perceptibly, and her hand crept out of sight in the black draperies.

"You have not, perhaps, ever sent a soul to God without absolution?"
she asked in a breathless hushed sort of voice. "No senor, the look of
you tells me you have not been so unpardonable. Is it not so?"

"Why, yes," returned Kit, "it hasn't been a habit with me to start
anyone on the angels' flight without giving him time to bless himself,
but even at that----"

"No, no!" as he took a step nearer. "The compact is ours without
handclasp. The hand of Jocasta is the hand of the black glove,
senor."

He looked from her