yonder. Eet vas like he tread on me,
eet hurt dat vay. Maybe I no lofe him, but I know he vas good man an'
he lofe me. Eet vas de honor ven he ask me dat, an' now I be good
voman because a good man lofes me. Holy Mother! eet vill be easy now
dat he vanted to marry me."

Impulsively Beth Norvell, her own eyes moist, held the other, sobbing
like a child within the clasp of sympathetic arms. There was instantly
formed between them a new bond, a new feeling of awakened womanhood.
Yet, even as her fingers continued to stroke the dishevelled hair
softly, there flashed across her mind a recurring memory of her
purpose, the necessity for immediate action. Not for an instant longer
did she doubt the complete honesty of the other's frank avowal, or
question the propriety of requesting her aid in thwarting Farnham. She
held the slight, quivering figure back, so that she might gaze into the
uplifted, questioning face.

"Mercedes, yes, yes, I understand it all," she cried eagerly. "But we
cannot talk about it any longer now. It is a wonderful thing, this
love of a good man; but we are wasting time that may mean life or death
to others, perhaps even to him. Listen to what I say--Farnham has
already gone to the 'Little Yankee,' and taken a gang of roughs with
him. They left San Juan on horseback more than half an hour ago. He
threatened me first, and boasted that Mr. Winston was out there, and
that I was too late to warn him of danger. Oh, girl, you understand
what that means; you know him well, you must realize what he is capable
of doing. I came here as fast as I could in the dark," she shuddered,
glancing backward across her shoulder. "Every step was a way of
horrors, but I did n't know any one who could help me. But you--you
know the way to the 'Little Yankee,' and we--we must get there before
daylight, if we have to crawl."

All that was savagely animal in the other's untamed nature flamed into
her face.

"He say vat? Senor Farnham he say vat he do?"

"He said dynamite told no tales, but sometimes killed more than the one
intended."

Mercedes' hand went to her head as though a pain had smitten her, and
she stepped back, half crouching in the glow like a tiger cat.

"He say dat? De man say dat? Holy Angels! he vas de bad devil, but he
find me de bad devil too. Ah, now I play him de game, an' ve see who
vin! De 'Leetle Yankee,' eet tree mile, senorita, an' de road rough,
mooch rough, but I know eet--si