done that is so awful?" he smiled, and went to
gather her into his arms.

She stayed him with a gesture of her hand. "No, not yet. Mebbe after you
know you won't want to. I was one of the robbers of the Limited."

"You--what!" he exclaimed, for once struck dumb with sheer amazement.

"Yes, Bucky. I expect you'll hate me now. What is it you called me--a
miscreant? Well, that's what I am."

His arms slipped round her as she began to sob, and he gentled her till
she could again speak. "Tell me all about it, little Curly." he said.

"I didn't go into it because I wanted to. My master made me. I don't
know much about the others, except that I heard the names they called
each other."

"Would you know them again if you saw them? But of course you would."

"Yes. But that's it, Bucky. I hated them all, and I was in mortal fear
all the time. Still--I can't betray them. They thought I went in freely
with them--all but Hardman. It wouldn't be right for me to tell what I
know. I've got to make you see that, dear."

"You'll not need to argue that with me, honey. I see it. You must keep
quiet. Don't tell anybody else what you've told me."

"And will they put me in the penitentiary when the rest go there?"

"Not while Bucky O'Connor is alive and kicking," he told her
confidently.

But the form in which he had expressed his feeling was unfortunate.
It brought them back to the menace of their situation. Neither of them
could tell how long he would be alive and kicking. She flung herself
into his arms and wept till she could weep no more.

CHAPTER 14. LE ROI EST MORT; VIVE LE ROI

When the news reached O'Halloran that Megales had scored on the
opposition by arresting Bucky O'Connor, the Irishman swore fluently at
himself for his oversight in forgetting the Northern Chihuahua. So far
as the success of the insurgents went, the loss of the ranger was a
matter of no importance, since O'Halloran knew well that nothing in the
way of useful information could be cajoled or threatened out of him.
But, personally, it was a blow to the filibuster, because he knew that
the governor would not hesitate to execute his friend if his fancy or
his fears ran that way, and the big, red-headed Celt would not have let
Bucky go to death for a dozen teapot revolutions if he could help it.

"And do you think you're fit to run even a donation party, you great,
blundering gumph?" Mike asked himself, in disgust. "You a conspirator!
You a leader