en--shame it is to tell--men
and women were sold and carried on that ship like cattle! Not rebels,
senor, not prisoners of battle,--but herdsmen and ranch people, poor
Indian farmers whom only devils would harm! Thus it was, senor, until
little by little Don Adolf knew so much that Jose Perez awoke to find
he had a master, and a strong one! It was not one man alone who caught
him in the net; it was the German comrades of Don Adolf who never
forgot their task, even when he was north in the States. They needed a
man of name in Hermosillo, and Jose Perez is now that man. When the
whip of the German cracks, he must jump to serve their will."

"But Jose Perez is a strong man. Before this day he has wiped many a
man from his trail if the man made him trouble," ventured Kit.

"You have right in that, senor, but I am telling you it is a wide net
they spread and in that net he is snared. Also his household is no
longer his own. The Indian house servants are gone, and outlaw
Japanese are there instead. That is true and their dress is the dress
of Indians. They are Japanese men of crimes, and German men gave aid
that they escape from justice in Japan. It is because they need such
men for German work in Mexico, men who have been taught German and
dare not turn rebel. Not an hour of the life of Jose Perez is free
from the eyes of a spy who is a man of crimes. And there are other
snares. They tell him that he is to be a governor by their
help;--that is a rich bait to float before the eyes of a man! His feet
are set on a trail made by Adolph Conrad,--He is trapped, and there is
no going back. Poison and shame and slavery and death have come upon
that trail like black mushrooms grown in a night, and what the end of
the trail will be is hid in the heart of God."

"But your sympathy is with those women in slavery there in the south,
and not with the evil friend of Jose Perez?" asked Kit.

"Can you doubt, senor? Am I not as truly a victim as they? I have not
worked under a whip, but there are other punishments--for a woman!"

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper, and she rested her chin on her
hand, staring out into the shadows of the patio, oblivious of them
all. Tula gazed at her as if fascinated, and there was a difference in
her regard. That she was linked in hate against Conrad gave the Indian
girl common cause with the jewel-eyed woman whose beauty had been the
boast of a province. Kit noticed it and was vastly comforted. The