ited
States intervention. In other words, war!"

"Oh, surely you exaggerate!" she cried.

"Maybe so. But I'm beginning to see the Don's game. And, Miss Hammond,
I--It's awful for me to think what you'd suffer if Don Carlos got you
over the line. I know these low-caste Mexicans. I've been among the
peons--the slaves."

"Stewart, don't let Don Carlos get me," replied Madeline, in sweet
directness.

She saw him shake, saw his throat swell as he swallowed hard, saw the
hard fierceness return to his face.

"I won't. That's why I'm going after him."

"But I forbade you to start a fight deliberately."

"Then I'll go ahead and start one without your permission," he replied
shortly, and again he wheeled.

This time, when Madeline caught his arm she held to it, even after he
stopped.

"No," she said, imperiously.

He shook off her hand and strode forward.

"Please don't go!" she called, beseechingly. But he kept on. "Stewart!"

She ran ahead of him, intercepted him, faced him with her back against
the door. He swept out a long arm as if to brush her aside. But it
wavered and fell. Haggard, troubled, with working face, he stood before
her.

"It's for your sake," he expostulated.

"If it is for my sake, then do what pleases me."

"These guerrillas will knife somebody. They'll burn the house. They'll
make off with you. They'll do something bad unless we stop them."

"Let us risk all that," she importuned.

"But it's a terrible risk, and it oughtn't be run," he exclaimed,
passionately. "I know best here. Stillwell upholds me. Let me out, Miss
Hammond. I'm going to take the boys and go after these guerrillas."

"No!"

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Stewart. "Why not let me go? It's the thing to
do. I'm sorry to distress you and your guests. Why not put an end to Don
Carlos's badgering? Is it because you're afraid a rumpus will spoil your
friends' visit?"

"It isn't--not this time."

"Then it's the idea of a little shooting at these Greasers?"

"No."

"You're sick to think of a little Greaser blood staining the halls of
your home?"

"No!"

"Well, then, why keep me from doing what I know is best?"

"Stewart, I--I--" she faltered, in growing agitation. "I'm
frightened--confused. All this is too--too much for me. I'm not a
coward. If you have to fight you'll see I'm not a coward. But your way
seems so reckless--that hall is so dark--the guerrillas would shoot from
behind doors. You're so wild, so daring, yo