outer door before retiring.
Eleven o'clock; the white owls were at their boldest, hooting
lugubrious serenades to the answering wolves. Pepillo was at the cabin
door, trying the latch. Mex heard the sound, got up, and unfastened
the bolts.

"Sh!" said she, and giving him the candle, pointed to the back room;
then drowsily resumed her nest on the buffalo robe. Pepillo took the
feeble light; nodded, but did not immediately follow directions. He
set the candle down upon the floor in front of the bar, so that its
faint flicker, unobserved by the woman, made objects barely visible in
the room. This done, he shuffled his feet slightly to apprise the
half-conscious guardian of the ominous house that he was obeying her
orders, and vanished in the rear darkness. The dead hush of sleep now
reigned over the place. So it seemed, but the stealthy Pepillo was
wide awake. He remained motionless, breathless, hidden in the gloom of
the second cabin. At length he reappeared, took up the candle, stood
awhile listening, then moved cautiously to the edge of the counter,
behind which the woman slept in her lair. He peeped over to assure
himself of her complete somnolence. Satisfied that Mex would not
likely be roused by any slight disturbance, he stole to the front door
and undid the fastenings so softly that not a creak of the bolt
sliding from its staple was heard even by his own quick ear. But when
he swung the door open, providing for his ready escape, the hinges
gave out a complaining sigh. The sound was faint, but it startled Mex.
She raised her drowsy head, and through the mass of sable hair
tangling over her half-open eyes, peered out from behind the shelter
of the bar. Pepillo had drawn a poignard and was tip-toeing toward the
sleeping captain. Mex gave a catamount cry. Palafox started up, pistol
in hand, none too soon to avoid the deadly blade of the assassin.
"Palafox!" This one word was all Pepillo uttered. In the act of
springing to stab, he leaped to his own death, shot through the head.
As he fell, the poignard, escaping his relaxed grasp, rang on the
floor. Mex, who tiger-like had sprung from her covert, snatched up the
shiny weapon, and fiercely stabbed it into Pepillo's lifeless breast.

Cacosotte and Sheldrake, roused by the report of a pistol, hurried in,
staring amazedly at Palafox, Mex and the fallen Spaniard.

"Carry that out," ordered Palafox, nodding toward the body. "Tie a
stone to its neck and chuck it into the