" He made a significant gesture in front of his mouth, glared
down at the two muleteers and, wheeling, dashed down the trail to
overtake the _carreta_, where he gloated aloud that his prisoner might
hear, and know where she was going, and why.

The two Pueblos listened until the hoofbeats sounded well down the trail
and then scrambled up the mountain side like goats, reaching the little
nook as Pablo dragged the seriously wounded Mexican over the edge. They
worked over him quickly, silently, listening to his broken, infrequent
mutterings and after bandaging him as best they could they put him on a
blanket and carried him to the trail and along it until they reached an
Indian hovel, where they left him in care of a squaw. Returning to the
_atejo_ they had to repack every mule, but they worked feverishly and
the work was soon done and the little train plodded on down the trail.
At the foot of the mountain Pablo said something to his companions, left
the trail and soon was lost to their sight.

Meanwhile the _carreta_, after a journey which was a torture, mentally
and physically, to its helpless occupant, reached the town and rumbled
up to Salezar's house, scraped through the narrow roadway between the
house and the building next door and stopped in the windowless,
high-walled courtyard. Three soldiers quickly carried a blanket-swathed
burden into the house while the others loafed around the entrance to the
driveway to guard against spying eyes. In a few moments the captain came
out, briskly rubbing his hands, gave a curt order regarding alertness
and rode away in the direction of the _palacio_, already a colonel in
his stimulated imagination. This had been a great day in the fortunes of
Captain Salezar and he was eager for his reward.

The sentry at the door of the _palacio_ saluted, told him that he was
waited for and urgently wanted, and then stood at attention. Salezar
stroked his chin, chuckled, and swaggered through the portal. Ten
minutes later he emerged, walking on air and impatient for the coming of
darkness, when his task soon would be finished and his promotion
assured.

And while the captain paced the floor of his quarters at the barracks
and dreamed dreams, an honest, courageous, and loyal Mexican was
fighting against death in a little hovel on the mountain side; and a
Pueblo Indian, stimulated by a queer and jumbled mixture of rage,
gratitude, revenge, and pity, was making his slow way, with infinite
cau