y enough, was a mere drunken brute, and Moore, while of somewhat
finer fibre, lacked the courage and manhood to ever develop into a true
friend.

Yet she would have infinitely preferred such as these--men, at least,
of her own race--to this smirking Mexican, hiding his devilish
instincts behind a pretence at gallantry. She knew him, now,
understood him, felt convinced, indeed, that this was all some cunning
scheme originating within his own brain. He had hastened ahead to
Mendez; told a tale in his own way, rendering the chief's suspicions of
Lacy more acute, and thus gaining permission to assume full charge.
Her only hope was to go herself into the presence of the leader, and
make a plea to him face to face. Moore was already at the horses'
heads, and was turning them about in the trail. Cateras, smiling,
pressed her arm with his fingers.

"This way, _senorita_."

"Wait," and her eyes met his, showing no sign of fear. "You take me, I
presume, to Senor Mendez?"

"Of what need?" in surprise. "He has already placed me in charge."

"Yet without hearing a word as to why I am here," indignantly. "I am
an American woman, and you will yet pay dearly for this outrage. I
demand an interview with the chief, and refuse to go with you until it
is granted."

"You refuse! Ha!" and he burst into laughter. "Why, what power have
you got, you little fool? Do you know where you are? What fear do we
have of your damn Americanos. None!" and he snapped his fingers
derisively. "We spit on the dogs. I will show you--come!"

He gripped her shoulder in his lean hand, his eyes glaring into her
face savagely. The grasp hurt, and a sudden anger spurred her to
action. With a quick twist she freed herself, and, scarcely knowing
how it was done, snatched the heavy driver's whip from Moore's hand.
The next instant, before the astounded Mexican could even throw up an
arm in defence, the infuriated girl struck, the stinging lash raising a
red welt across the swarthy cheek. Cateras staggered back, his lips
giving utterance to a curse.

Again she struck, but this time his fingers gripped the leather, and
tore it from her hands, with sufficient force to send her to her knees.
With a spring forward the man had her in his grasp, all tiger now, the
pretence at gentleness forgotten. He jerked her to her feet, with
fingers clutching her neck mercilessly.

"Here, Silva, Merodez," he cried, "come take this spitfire. _Caramba_!
we'll