rfect conveyer of sound, and a voice pierced the silence.
It was the voice of Juan Cateras, vibrant with anger.

"You sleepy swine," he ejaculated fiercely, "and is this the way you
keep watch? Come out of that!" the command punctuated by the scuffling
of feet. "Damn you, Silva, but I will teach you a lesson for this when
I return. Now go to the hut and stay there until I come. This is a
matter where Mendez shall name the penalty. Get you gone, you sleepy
dog."

He either struck or kicked the man, hurrying the fellow down the
passage to the echo of Spanish oaths. Apparently no resistance was
made, for the next instant the key turned in the lock and the door
opened. Cateras, smiling, seemingly unruffled by this encounter,
stepped within, calmly closed the door behind him, and then turned to
greet the lady. She met his bow with eyes of firm resolve, though her
heart ached.

"Why do you come, _senor_?" she asked so quietly that the man in
surprise halted his step forward.

"To keep my word," and his white teeth gleamed in an effort at
pleasantness. "I am always truthful with your sex; and I told you I
would return shortly."

"Yet why?" she insisted, anxious only to keep him away as long as
possible, and yet enchain his interest. "If I am prisoner here, I am
not your prisoner. Do you come, then, to serve me?"

"Can you doubt that, _senorita_?" still endeavouring to retain the mask
he had first assumed. "Because circumstances make me defy the law--a
mere love of adventure, no more--is no reason why I should be devoid of
heart and sympathy." He took a step nearer. "Since leaving here I
have questioned the men who brought you, and learned why you were made
prisoner. I care nothing for this Bill Lacy--nothing," and he snapped
his fingers derisively. "Why should I? But, instead, I would be your
friend."

"You mean your purpose is to aid me to escape?"

He bowed low.

"It would be my great happiness to do so. There is danger, yet what is
danger to Juan Cateras? 'Tis only part of my life. The _senorita_ is
an American, and to her one of my race may not appeal, yet I would
prove my devotion with my life."

"Your devotion, _senor_!"'

"Is not the word expressive! Though I have seen you but once before,
my heart is already devoted to your interest. I am of a Southern race,
_senorita_, and we do not calculate--we feel. Why, then, should I
conceal my eagerness? It is love which causes me to thus d