ould go in, on my horse; I could wait here with
you." And he looked at Garda with eyes which asked the question--was
Bartolo to be trusted so far as that?

She understood. "Bartolo will carry your message as well as any one
could, I know," she answered.

Bartolo gave his head a lurch to one side in acknowledgment of her
compliment. He slapped his leg resoundingly;--"I _tell_ yer!" he said.
It was his way of affirming his capabilities.

There was really nothing else to be done, unless Winthrop should essay
to ride, as he had suggested, with Garda behind him; and Garda had
declined to try this mode of progression. Bartolo offered the statement
that he could reach Gracias, and have a carriage back, before dark.

"That's impossible," said Winthrop, briefly.

"'Twon' be more'n de edge of de ebenin', den, marse," said Bartolo, with
his affable optimism.

"Be off, in any case; the sooner you are back, the more dimes you will
have."

Bartolo flung himself in a heap upon the saddle, disentangling his legs
after the horse was in motion; then, his bare feet dangling and flapping
without use of the stirrup, he galloped across the barren, not by the
road, but taking a shorter cut he knew. Winthrop stood watching him out
of sight; but he could not see far, as the light was nearly gone.

"Now make a fire," said Garda.

"Don't you think you could walk on--if we should go very slowly? We
might shorten the distance by a mile or two."

"I don't think I could take a step. These slippers are tightening every
minute, in the wrong places; they hurt me even as I sit still."

"Try my shoes."

"I couldn't carry them, my feet would slip out at the top."

This was true; her little feet looked uselessly small, now that they
were needed for active service. "You are very inconvenient," he said,
smiling.

"The next thing--you will be asking me to go in to Gracias barefoot,"
continued Garda. "But I never could, never; one step on this sand would
make me all creepy."

"Well," said Winthrop at last, accepting his fate, "I suppose I might as
well make a fire."

"It's what I wanted you to do in the first place," answered Garda,
serenely.

He made a fire that leaped high towards heaven. He made it
systematically, first with twigs and pine cones which he collected and
piled together with precision before applying the match; then he added
dry branches, which he searched for and hauled in with much patience and
energy.

"When I asked y