, the senora. In God's name, take all your own, and go in
peace!"

"But the senora is weary to death, and----"

"That is true, Capitan," spoke Dona Jocasta, who drooped in the saddle
like a wilted flower. "But the senora will not die, and if she does it
is not so much loss as the smallest of the soldiers of El Gavilan. We
will go on, and go quickly, see!--there is yet water in the cantin,
and four hours of trail is soon over."

Ugly Chappo came shyly forward and, uncovered, touched the hem of her
skirt to his lips.

"The high heart of the excellencia gives life to the men who fight,"
he said and thrust his hand in a pocket fastened to his belt. "This is
to you from the Deliverer, senora. His message is that it brought to
him the lucky trail, and he would wish the same to the Dona Jocasta
Perez."

It was the little cross, once sent back to her by a peon in bitterness
of soul, and now sent by a general of Mexico with the blessing of a
soldier.

"Tell him Jocasta takes it as a gift of God, and his name is in her
prayers," she said and turned away.

Clodomiro pushed forward,--a very different Clodomiro, for the
fluttering bands of color were gone from his arms and his hair--the
heart of the would-be bridegroom was no longer his. He was stripped as
for the trail or for war, and fastened to his saddle was the gun and
ammunition he had won from Cavayso who had gone quickly onward with
his detachment of the pack.

But Clodomiro halted beside Chappo, regardless of need for haste on
the trail, and asked him things in that subdued Indian tone without
light, shade, or accent, in which the brown brothers of the desert
veil their intimate discourse.

"There, beyond!" said Chappo, "two looks on the trail," and he pointed
west. "Two looks and one water hole, and if wind moves the sand no one
can find the way where we go. It is not a trail for boys."

"I am not now a boy," said Clodomiro, "and when the safety trail of
the senora is over----"

But Chappo waved him onward, for the wagon and the pack mules, and
even little gray Bunting had turned reluctant feet north.

Clodomiro had come from Soledad because Elena,--who never had been
out of sight of the old adobe walls,--sat on the ground wailing at
thought of leaving her old sick father and going to war, for despite
all the persuasions of Dona Jocasta, Elena knew what she knew, and did
not at all believe that any of them would see the lands of the
Americano,--not with pa