ll the loot to pieces and
discover her? She listened with her whole body, but heard nothing from the
driver. Instead, came the detonation of the dynamited tracks. The ground
beneath the car trembled. Then she heard the man laugh as he started the
car again.

"They've blown up something! That sounds like Don Juan's voice, too. If I
could only see!"

The car soon moved at its former speed. On and on it went. Sometimes the
road would be smooth, the driver having found wagon ruts and stayed in
them. Again, it would be full of bumps and jars. It was very
uncomfortable, her position being wretchedly cramped. Once she was
startled to hear the driver break into song. It sounded like a Spanish
love song and his voice was a lyric tenor and very musical. It was
Pachuca! She determined to know what was going on.

Pushing aside a corner of the blanket she saw that it was beginning to
grow dusky. Cautiously she raised herself until she could see. Pachuca was
bent over the wheel. Looking back she saw the road empty of riders.

She looked ahead again. They were in the foothills already. Polly drew a
long breath, then leaning over the back of the seat said desperately:

"Senor Pachuca, would you mind turning round a moment?"

If she had exploded the revolver in his ear, Pachuca could not have given
a greater start.

"_Madre di Dios!_" he gasped, as the machine swerved.

"Please, do mind the wheel--that was an awful curve!"

"Where did you come from?" demanded the young man.

"I have been hidden among the stolen goods," replied Polly. "I've heard a
lot about you lately, senor, but I honestly didn't believe you were a
thief until I saw with my own eyes."

Pachuca stopped the machine and turning glared at the girl, also at the
weapon which she pointed with a very unsteady hand in his direction.

"If you'll put that thing down I'll try to explain to you the difference
between stealing and requisitioning property in war times," he said,
angrily.

"If you'll turn the car around you can explain all the way back to
Athens," said Polly, sharply. "I'm awfully tired and stiff and my hand is
shaky--the man who gave me this gun told me it was ready to go off. I
don't want it to go off but if it does I can't help it. Will you please
turn around?"

"No, I won't. The road is too narrow."

"I've turned a Red Cross ambulance around in a lane no wider than this out
near Fort Sheridan and I didn't spill anybody either. You're a better
dr