not. "I'm the hombre suspected
of that Granados murder committed by Conrad,--and the name is
Rhodes."

"So? Then the scolding of these two comrades gives to you your freedom
from suspicion, eh? That is good, but--" He looked at Kit, frowning.
"See here, I comprehend badly. You told me it was the friend of your
_compadre_ who was the suspected one!"

"Sure! I've a dandy partner across the border. He's the old man you
saw at Yaqui Spring, and I reckon I'm a fairly good friend of his.
He'd say so!"

Rotil's face relaxed in a grin.

"That is clever, a trick and no harm in it, but--have a care to
yourself! It is easy to be too clever, and on a trail of war no one
has time to learn if tricks are of harm or not. Take the warning of a
friend, Capitan Rhodes!"

"You have the right of it, General. I have much to learn," agreed Kit.
"But no man goes abroad to shout the crimes he is accused of at
home,--and the story of this one is very new to me. This morning I
learned I was thought guilty, and tonight I learn who is the criminal,
and how the job was done. This is quick work, and I owe the luck of it
to you."

"May the good luck hold!" said Rotil. "And see that the men leave you
alone as the guard of Perez. I want no listeners there."

CHAPTER XVII

THE STORY OF DONA JOCASTA

Ramon Rotil stood a long minute after the clank of chains ceased along
the corridor; then he bolted the outer door of the chapel, and after
casting a grim satisfied smile at the screen of the faded canvas, he
opened the door of the _sala_ and went in.

Valencia was kneeling beside Dona Jocasta and forcing brandy between
the white lips, while Elena bustled around the padre whose head she
had been bathing. A basin of water, ruby red, was evidence of the fact
that Padre Andreas was not in immediate need of the services of a
leech. He sat with his bandaged head held in his hands, and shrank
perceptibly when the general entered the room.

Dona Jocasta swallowed some of the brandy, half strangled over it, and
sat up, gasping and white. It was Tula who offered her a cup of water,
while Valencia, with fervent expressions of gratitude to the saints,
got to her feet, eyeing Rotil with a look of fear. After the wounded
priest and the fainting Jocasta emerged from the chapel door, the two
women were filled with terror of the controlling spirit there.

He halted on the threshold, his eyes roving from face to face,
including Tula, who stood, back