lk.

"Consider what the position of Mercedes really is. I can't get any
help from our side of the line. If so, I don't know where. The
population on that side is mostly Mexican, absolutely in sympathy with
whatever actuates those on this side. The whole caboodle of Greasers
on both sides belong to the class in sympathy with the rebels, the
class that secretly respects men like Rojas, and hates an aristocrat
like Mercedes. They would conspire to throw her into his power. Rojas
can turn all the hidden underground influences to his ends. Unless I
thwart him he'll get Mercedes as easily as he can light a cigarette.
But I'll kill him or some of his gang or her before I let him get
her.... This is the situation, old friend. I've little time to spare.
I face arrest for desertion. Rojas is in town. I think I was followed
to this hotel. The priest has betrayed me or has been stopped.
Mercedes is here alone, waiting, absolutely dependent upon me to save
her from--from.... She's the sweetest, loveliest girl!... In a few
moments--sooner or later there'll be hell here! Dick, are you with me?"

Dick Gale drew a long, deep breath. A coldness, a lethargy, an
indifference that had weighed upon him for months had passed out of his
being. On the instant he could not speak, but his hand closed
powerfully upon his friend's. Thorne's face changed wonderfully, the
distress, the fear, the appeal all vanishing in a smile of passionate
gratefulness.

Then Dick's gaze, attracted by some slight sound, shot over his
friend's shoulder to see a face at the window--a handsome, bold,
sneering face, with glittering dark eyes that flashed in sinister
intentness.

Dick stiffened in his seat. Thorne, with sudden clenching of hands,
wheeled toward the window.

"Rojas!" he whispered.

II

MERCEDES CASTANEDA

THE dark face vanished. Dick Gale heard footsteps and the tinkle of
spurs. He strode to the window, and was in time to see a Mexican
swagger into the front door of the saloon. Dick had only a glimpse;
but in that he saw a huge black sombrero with a gaudy band, the back of
a short, tight-fitting jacket, a heavy pearl-handled gun swinging with
a fringe of sash, and close-fitting trousers spreading wide at the
bottom. There were men passing in the street, also several Mexicans
lounging against the hitching-rail at the curb.

"Did you see him? Where did he go?" whispered Thorne, as he joined
Gale. "Those Greasers out the