sensation he experienced while being trampled upon could only be
likened unto that of being borne aloft on wings, etc. She grew hot and
cold by turns as she read these missives, and sulked and softened and
flew into fits of passion, and tore them into bits, thoroughly disgusted
with her weakness and her inability to remedy matters, and invariably
ended by wishing to see him again. Clearly, her only hope of delivery
lay in the alternatives of instant flight, or of ridding herself of his
importunities by marrying him; either of which she found equally
difficult and impossible to execute. She did not know that Dick was
putting on a bold front; that his attitude was assumed; that, like her,
he was at his wits' end; that, if she suffered, he suffered tenfold. Her
annoyance was insignificant in comparison to the cyclonic outbursts that
swept over him.

Ah, yes, Anita, Concho's wife, had predicted events with fair accuracy.
When he sought to take her, she was not there, but somewhere
else--everywhere. Just like a kitten that frisks among the leaves in
autumn when they are whirled about by the wind; now here, now there, now
up a tree. Though each had taken the measure of the other with fair
accuracy, each had misjudged the other's strength; and it was becoming
problematical just how much longer he would be able to hold out. Nothing
had ever daunted him. All his life long he had never failed to
accomplish the things of real importance. No undertaking had ever proved
too great. Colonel Yankton, his foster-father, had taught him the value
of perseverance, and he had learned his lesson well. He instinctively
felt that the great crisis of his life was at hand; that all his
efforts, his successes in life must count for naught so far as he
personally was concerned, should he fail to win her. He knew that his
fate hung in the balance, that the morrow would practically decide
whether the one thing his life lacked would be added unto it, or that he
would go on to the end alone.

He had gone for a stroll in the town after the customary gathering in
the _patio_ in the evening. The others had long since retired for the
night when he returned to the _Posada_. Feeling no inclination to sleep,
he seated himself on the veranda in front of the house, and lighting a
fresh cigar, smoked and mused; his gaze fixed on the tall moonlit hedge
which separated the _Posada_ from the highroad; his thoughts reverting
to the days of his boyhood. Again he sa