In that welter of changing hues and tints he
saw only red. Red! That was the color of blood; it stood for passion,
lust, violence; and it was a fitting badge of color for this land of
revolutions and alarms. At first he saw little else--except the hint of
black despair to follow. But there was gold in the sunset, too--the
yellow gold of ransom! That was Mexico--red and yellow, blood and gold,
lust and license. Once the rider's fancy began to work in this fashion,
it would not rest, and as the sunset grew in splendor he found in it
richer meanings. Red was the color of a woman's lips--yes, and a
woman's hair. The deepening blue of the high sky overhead was the hue
of a certain woman's eyes. A warm, soft breeze out of the west beat
into his face, and he remembered how warm and soft Alaire's breath had
been upon his cheek.

The woman of his desires was yonder, where those colors warred, and she
was mantled in red and gold and purple for his coming. The thought
aroused him; the sense of his unworthiness vanished, the blight fell
from him; he felt only a throbbing eagerness to see her and to take her
in his arms once more before the end.

With his head high and his face agleam, he rode into the west, into the
heart of the sunset.

XXVII

LA FERIA

"What's this I hear about war?" Dolores inquired of her mistress, a few
days after their arrival at La Feria. "They tell me that Mexico is
invaded and that the American soldiers have already killed more than a
thousand women and children."

"Who tells you this?" Alaire asked.

"The men--everybody," Dolores waved a hand in the direction of the
other ranch buildings. "Our people are buzzing like bees with the news,
and, of course, no one cares to work when the Americans are coming."

"I shall have to put an end to such talk."

"This morning the word came that the revolution is ended and that the
soldiers of both parties are uniting to fight for their liberties. They
say the Gringos are killing all the old people--every one, in fact,
except the girls, whom they take with them. Already they have begun the
most horrible practices. Why, at Espinal"--Dolores's eyes were
round--"would you believe it?--those Yankee soldiers ate a baby! They
roasted the little dear like a cabrito and ate it! I tell you, it makes
wild talk among the peladors."

"Do you believe such stories?" Alaire inquired, with some amusement.

"Um-m--not altogether. But, all the same, I think it is t