e
gathered up the bridle-reins and led the horses to the barn. Florrie,
shrinking out of Galloway's embrace, looked particularly little and
helpless in her pretty riding-habit.

She went with Galloway into the lamplighted room. The woman looked at
her curiously, then to Galloway, something of wonder and upstanding
admiration in her beady eyes.

"Has the priest come?" demanded Galloway.

"No, senor. Not yet."

She added by way of explanation that word had been sent; that the
priest was delayed; a man was dying and he must stay a little at the
bedside. She muttered the tale like a child repeating a lesson.
Galloway, watching Florence, who sat rigid in her chair by the table,
waited for her to finish.

At the end he gave the woman a sharp, significant look. She said
something about a cup of coffee for the senorita and went hastily into
the kitchen. Florrie sprang to her feet, her hands clasped.

"You must let me go," she cried wildly. "The priest isn't here. I am
going home."

"No," said Galloway steadily. "You are not going home, Florence. You
must listen to me. I love you more than anything else In the world, my
dear. I want you, want you all for mine."

She saw a sudden light flare up in his eyes and it seemed to her that
her heart would beat through the walls of her breast. "I am not a boy,
but a man. A strong man, a man who, when he wants a thing, wants it
with his whole heart and body and soul, a man who takes what he wants.
Wait; just listen to me! You love me now; you will love me more and
more when I give you all that I have promised you. To-night, in an
hour, I will have made the beginning; I will have gathered about me
fifty men who will do exactly what I tell them to do! Then they will
go with us down into Mexico; they will be the beginning of a little
army whose one thought will be loyalty . . . loyalty to you and to me."

"No," said Florence, her voice shaking. "I am going. . . ."

"You will marry me when the priest comes," he cut in sternly.
"Otherwise, if you make me, I will take you with me anyway, unmarried.
And I will make you marry me when we have crossed the border. And
now . . . now you will kiss me. I have waited long, Florence."

He came toward her; she slipped behind the table, crying out to him to
stop. But he came on, caught her, drew her into his arms. And
Florrie, some new passionate, terrified Florrie, beat at him with her
fists, tore at him with her nails,