whip on the innocent Romeo.

"My God, horse, we've got to go some the rest of the way! If----"

He did not finish the sentence. They had reached the top of a hill and he
put on the brake as they started down. At the foot of the hill stood an
automobile--not Mendoza's shabby little Ford--but a big car with two large
headlights. It was turned across the road and not a soul was in sight.
Scott took his foot off the brake and with a muttered curse let the
buckboard rattle down the hill.

* * * * *

Polly's first sensation, as she sank into the comfortable seat next the
driver and buried her face in the collar of her coat, was one of intense
relief. This was something that seemed like home. She felt herself being
whirled up the streets of Conejo with the feeling of one who is escaping,
the flight being for the time of more importance than the fashion in which
one flies.

"I think you will be cold," said a polite voice at her elbow. "Wait--I
have a robe." And a blanket which smelled of the stable rather than of the
garage was wrapped carefully around her. "In a few moments we shall be out
of this sand."

For a while they rode in silence, then the girl said, apologetically:

"I am so sorry. I didn't want you to go to all this trouble--but I
couldn't stay in that awful place when Bob is so near!"

"If you think Conejo is bad I wonder what you would think of some of our
towns further south? They are ruins."

"Ruins?"

"Ten years of revolution--they do not improve a country."

Polly did not reply. She peeped out of her collar and saw that Pachuca's
prophecy was fulfilled. They had ridden out of the area of the sand-storm
and were getting into the foothills where the air was cold and clear. They
faced the new moon which gave an eerie look to everything--the distant
mountains, the foothills with their weird patches of vegetation, tall
cacti and dark looking arroyos. Far, far in their rear could be seen the
few feeble lights of Conejo. It began to dawn upon an awed Polly that she
was doing not an unconventional but a distinctly risky thing.

What did she know about this good-looking boy who sat beside her, guiding
the car so expertly through the ruts and chuck holes that chopped up the
road? Suppose he turned out to be--she caught her breath angrily! He was
no common Mexican but a gentleman and one was not afraid of men of one's
own class, she told herself. She would not be afr