an answer. A hundred
years of words and only a red and yellow bundle of feathers at the end.
It is deeds we want, Senor Americano, you and I!"

He returned her look steadily.

"Then tell me what you want of me," he said. "And in one word I'll
give you yes or no."

"That is man talk!" she cried. "And yet, Senor Jim Kendric, there come
times even in a man's life when the yes or no is spoken for him." She
paused for him to drink in all that her statement meant. Then, when he
remained silent, his eyes hostile upon hers, she went on, her speech
quick and passionate. "There are great happenings on foot, American.
There will be war and death; there will be tearing down and building
up. And it is I who will direct and it is you who will take my orders
and make them law. And in the end I shall be a Zoraida whom the world
shall know and you shall be a mighty man, _the_ man of Mexico."

"Fine words!" It was his time to mock, his time to glance at the
ancient bird.

"Yes, Jim Kendric. Fine words and more since they are great truths.
Lest you think Zoraida Castelmar a girl of mad fancies, I will speak
freely with you. Since all depends on me and it is in my mind that
much will depend on you. And why on you? Why have I put my hand out
upon you, a foreigner? Because you are such a man as I would make were
I God; a man strong and fearless and masterful; a man trustworthy to
the death when his word is given and his honor is at stake. No, I do
not judge you alone by what happened at Ortega's gambling house. But
that fitted in with all I knew of you. Where else can I find a man to
lose ten thousand, twenty thousand dollars, all that he has and think
no more of the matter than of a cigaret paper that the wind has blown
from his hands? I have heard of you, Jim Kendric, and I have said to
myself: 'Is there such a man? I know none like him!' Then I went for
myself, saw for myself, judged for myself. And now I offer you what I
offer no other man and what no other mortal can offer you."

"You give me a pretty clean bill of health," he said quietly. "Now
what follows?"

"This: There will be war in Mexico----"

"No new thing," he cut in. "There is always war in Mexico."

"And I will direct that war," she went on serenely, "from this chair in
this room and from elsewhere. Lower California will raise its own
standard and it will be my standard. Already has word stirred Sonora
into restlessness and a beginning of