snore floated up from the blanket.

When Murguia was gone, the sleeper awoke. He carefully poured out all
the remaining whiskey. "It may be what they call 'fine Italian,'" he
muttered, with a disgusted shake of the head, but he neglected to throw
the flask away as well. Next he saddled Demijohn and two of the pack
horses, then lay down and slept in earnest, as an old campaigner
snatches at rest.

The night was black, an hour before the dawn, when his eyes opened wide,
and he sat up, listening. He heard it again, faint and far away, a
feeble "pop-pop!" Then there were more, a sudden pigmy chorus of battle.
He got to his feet, and ran to call the two women.

"So," said Jacqueline, appearing under the stars, "monsieur does not
wish to be relieved of us? He will not wait for his friends?"

"Get on these horses! Here, I'll help you."

Soon they three were riding through the forest, in the trail toward
Valles. Behind them the fairy popping swelled louder, yet louder, and
the man glanced resentfully at his two companions. He was missing the
game.

Back in the village of Culebra a demon uproar hounded Don Anastasio out
of serape and slumber. All about him were fleeing feet. They were
shadows, bounding like frightened deer from the wood, across the
clearing, and into the wood again. Some turned and fired as they ran.
Screaming women and children hurried out of the _jacales_, and
darted here and there. Dogs howled everywhere. A storm of crashing brush
and a wild troop of horsemen, each among them a free lance of butchery,
burst on the village. A second crashing storm, and they were in the
forest again. They left quivering blots in their wake, and a moaning
gave a lower and dreadfuller note to the wailing of women. Only the
leader of the pursuers, with a few others, drew rein.

"Death of an ox!" the French oath rang out, "We're in their very nest.
Quick, you loafers, the torch, the torch!"

Flames began to crackle, and in the glare Murguia was seen frantically
driving burros and peons to safety. The leader of the troop leaned over
in his saddle and had him by the collar.

"Who the name of a name are you?"

Don Anastasio looked up. His captor was a great bearded man. "Colonel
Dupin!" he groaned.

"Who are you?--But I should know. It's the trader, the accomplice of
Rodrigo. Sacre nom, tell me, where is she? We can't find her here. Where
is she?"

"How can I know, senor? She--perhaps she is gone."

"With Rodrigo--ha!