Americans expected here. I thought,
Mr. Haynes, that your active hustling with the Washington government
might help in rushing matters. For some unknown reason, my letter
to our offices must have gotten through before the letter did
that was sent to Arizona. Your private secretary, Mr. Haynes,
must have opened my letter addressed to you. He realized that
he could not with safety to us send you more than the telegraphic
code warning to keep out of the deal. I never told Hazelton,
until just now, in the presence of you all, that I had ordered
Nicolas to send off more letters by a messenger whom Nicolas felt
that he could trust. But you remember the day well enough, Harry?"

"I do," nodded Hazelton. "I was fussing about the long absence of
Nicolas just before you turned up with that stranger whom we nursed."

"And speaking of strangers," muttered Reade, glancing off down
the driveway, "there's the identical stranger, at this moment
talking with the soldiers halted by the gate."

Almost as though he had heard himself called the stranger glanced
up at the group on the porch, then came forward. He walked briskly,
despite his lean, wasted frame.

"How? So this fellow is in irons?" queried the stranger, halting
as he saw the handcuffs on Don Luis's wrists. "Justice is sometimes
very tardy, though in this instance she has not failed. Handcuffs
become this felon; they are his natural jewelry!"

"Then you know Don Luis?" questioned Tom, after an instant's silence.

"I should know Don Luis well," boasted the stranger, drawing himself
up proudly. "Also I know this fellow!"

"My father!" cried a startled feminine voice from the doorway.
Then Francesca, her eyes filled with fright, hastened across
the porch. She would have thrown her arms around the neck of
the manacled man had not the stranger caught her by one arm and
held her back.

"How dare you, senor?" panted the girl, turning upon the stranger.
"And who are you?"

"Do not touch this felon with your clean hands," warned the stranger,
with a sternness that was tempered with gentleness.

"Who are you, senor?" the girl insisted.

"Can't you guess?" broke out Tom Reade, wonderingly. "Senorita
Francesca, I helped take care of this man while he was ill in
our cook tent. In his fever I heard some words fall from his
lips that started me to wondering. But the other day I beheld
this gentleman gazing upon you from a distance. In his eyes,
as he looked at y