s, and flying machines
for _herself_, the sooner she could help end that upheaval of hell in
Europe?... and they wouldn't listen! Listen?--They brought every ounce
of influence they could round up to silence those facts,--the
eternally condemned ostriches sticking their own heads in the sand to
blind the world to the situation! Now they were in, and he wondered if
they had even ten rounds of ammunition for the cartridge belts of the
few trained soldiers in service? They had not had even three rounds
for the showy grand review attempted in Texas not long since; also the
transportation had been a joke, some of the National Guards started,
but never did arrive--and France was a longer trail than Texas. God!
they should be ready to fight as the French were ready, in twelve
hours--and it would have to be months--a long unequal hell for a time
over there, but only one finish, and the brown rats driven back to
their den! After that the most wonderful girl would--would--would----

Then all the sleep due him on the sleepless trail settled over him
like a net weighted, yet very caressing, and the world war and the
wonderful girl drifted far away!

Beyond, on the other side of the fire, and out of the circle of light,
Clodomiro bore the _serape_ of Dona Jocasta, and made clear the place
for her couch. She had returned to the light of the fire and was
scanning again the annoying paper of the Americanos. Especially that
remembered face of the audacious eyes. They were different eyes in
these latter days, level and cynical, and sometimes cruel.

"He calls," said Clodomiro again beside her. She had not heard him,
and turned in anger that he dare startle her.

"Who does he call?" she asked irritably tossing aside the paper.

"All Mexico, I think. All Mexico's heart," and he touched his breast.
"Me, I do not sleep. I do your work and when the end of the trail is
yours, I ask, Excellencia, that you send me back that I find him
again,--the Deliverer!"

"What did Ramon Rotil ever do for you that you fret like a chained
coyote because his enemies are strong?"

"Not anything, Excellencia. Me, he would not know if I told him my
name, but--he is the Deliverer who will help the clans. Also, _she_
would go,--Tula. _Sangre de Christo!_ there would be no chain strong
enough to hold her back if his wounds cried for help."

"If--his wounds cried for help!" repeated Dona Jocasta mechanically.

"It is true, Excellencia, El Gavilan was giving