a white man," he
said. "No white man, if he's a gentleman, can stan' being told he hain't
got no pluck."

"Certainly," assented Coronado. "Well, I have apologized. What more can I
do?"

"Square, you're all right now," said the forgiving Texan, stretching out
his bony, dirty hand and grasping Coronado's. "But don't say it agin.
White men can't stan' sech talk. Well, about this feller--I'll see, I'll
see. Square, I'll try to do what's right."

As Coronado rode away from this interview, he ground his teeth with rage
and mortification, muttering, "A _white_ man! a _white_ man! So I am a
black man. Yes, I am a greaser. Curse this whole race of English-speaking
people!"

After a while he began to think to the purpose. He too must work; he must
not trust altogether to Texas Smith; the scoundrel might flinch, or might
fail. Something must be done to separate Clara and Thurstane. What should
it be? Here we are almost ashamed of Coronado. The trick that he hit upon
was the stalest, the most threadbare, the most commonplace and vulgar that
one can imagine. It was altogether unworthy of such a clever and
experienced conspirator. His idea was this: to get lost with Clara for one
night; in the morning to rejoin the train. Thurstane would be disgusted,
and would unquestionably give up the girl entirely when Coronado should
say to him, "It was a very unlucky accident, but I have done what a
gentleman should, and we are engaged."

This coarse, dastardly, and rather stupid stratagem he put into execution
as quickly as possible. There were some dangers to be guarded against, as
for instance Apaches, and the chance of getting lost in reality.

"Have an eye upon me to-day," he suggested to Texas. "If I leave the train
with any one, follow me and keep a lookout for Indians. Only stay out of
sight."

Now for an opportunity to lead Clara astray. The region was favorable;
they were in an arid land of ragged sandstone spurs and buttes; it would
be necessary to march until near sunset, in order to find water and
pasturage. Consequently there was both time and scenery for his project.
Late in the afternoon the train crossed a narrow _mesa_ or plateau, and
approached a sublime terrace of rock which was the face of a second
table-land. This terrace was cleft by several of those wonderful grooves
which are known as canons, and which were wrought by that mighty
water-force, the sculpturer of the American desert. In one place two of
these ope