ed him. With these latter, peeping from the
shaded window, was "the wife of my brother," exchanging with them
comments in low, guarded tones. In the adjoining room, a bedroom, a girl
of perhaps sixteen, slender, graceful and dark-eyed, peeped in the
opposite direction, over toward the willows where Blake's men were now
unsaddling--whence presently, with giant strides came Blake himself,
stalking over the sand. Sancho, despite his anxious scrutiny of Loring's
silent movements, saw the coming officer and prepared his countenance
for smiles. But with a face set and forbidding Blake went sternly by,
taking no notice of the proprietor, and made directly for the little
group now muttering at the dining-room door. The loungers, some of whom
had deserted the supper-table for a sight of the captives and the
cavalcade, sidled right and left as though to avoid his eye, for into
each face, most of them hang-dog visages, he gazed sharply as though in
search of some one, yet never faltered in his stride. Back from her
barred window shrank the young girl as the tall soldier came within a
dozen paces. To one side or another, smoke inhaling, and striving to
look unconcerned, edged the swarthy constituents of the group, and with
never a word to one of them, straight through their midst and the
doorway beyond went Blake, catching the three peepers, "the wife of my
brother" and the brace of palpable cutthroats at their loopholes. So
unexpected was the move that it had not even occurred to one of the
creatures at the door to mutter a word of warning. So engrossed were the
three in their scrutiny that Blake's entrance was unheard. True, he had
discarded boots and spurs, and his feet were encased in soft Apache
moccasins. The floor, too, was earthen, but he had made no effort at
stealth, and in the gloom and shadow of the low-roofed room it was for a
moment difficult to distinguish the human figures against the opposite
wall. It was his ear that first gave warning, for low, yet distinct, he
heard the words:

"If he'd taken any horse but that roan--or knew less about riding--we'd
'a caught him twenty miles out, and they'd never 'a caught Nevins. Dash,
dash the whole dashed blue-bellied outfit, and be dash, dash, dashed to
their quadruple dashed souls!" and the concentrated spite and hatred of
the speaker hissed in every syllable.

"'Taint a question of what we couldn't do. What _can_ we do? He's got
money and plenty of it _cached_ somewhere a