he was about to reply when Mercedes
pressed close to him, touched his hands, looked up into his face with
wonderful eyes. He thought he would not soon forget their beauty--the
shadow of pain that had been, the hope dawning so fugitively.

"Dear lady," said Gale, with voice not wholly steady, "Rojas himself
will hound you no more to-night, nor for many nights."

She seemed to shake, to thrill, to rise with the intelligence. She
pressed his hand close over her heaving breast. Gale felt the quick
throb of her heart.

"Senor! Senor Dick!" she cried. Then her voice failed. But her hands
flew up; quick as a flash she raised her face--kissed him. Then she
turned and with a sob fell into Thorne's arms.

There ensued a silence broken only by Mercedes' sobbing. Gale walked
some paces away. If he were not stunned, he certainly was agitated.
The strange, sweet fire of that girl's lips remained with him. On the
spur of the moment he imagined he had a jealousy of Thorne. But
presently this passed. It was only that he had been deeply
moved--stirred to the depths during the last hour--had become conscious
of the awakening of a spirit. What remained with him now was the
splendid glow of gladness that he had been of service to Thorne. And
by the intensity of Mercedes' abandon of relief and gratitude he
measured her agony of terror and the fate he had spared her.

"Dick, Dick, come here!" called Thorne softly. "Let's pull ourselves
together now. We've got a problem yet. What to do? Where to go? How
to get any place? We don't dare risk the station--the corrals where
Mexicans hire out horses. We're on good old U.S. ground this minute,
but we're not out of danger."

As he paused, evidently hoping for a suggestion from Gale, the silence
was broken by the clear, ringing peal of a bugle. Thorne gave a
violent start. Then he bent over, listening. The beautiful notes of
the bugle floated out of the darkness, clearer, sharper, faster.

"It's a call, Dick! It's a call!" he cried.

Gale had no answer to make. Mercedes stood as if stricken. The bugle
call ended. From a distance another faintly pealed. There were other
sounds too remote to recognize. Then scattering shots rattled out.

"Dick, the rebels are fighting somebody," burst out Thorne, excitedly.
"The little federal garrison still holds its stand. Perhaps it is
attacked again. Anyway, there's something doing over the line. Maybe
the crazy Greasers are f