o matter how or why, that was enough. All I ask is to be left
alone--to hear no more of her."

"I am obliged to speak to you of her," said Coronado. "She is aboard."

"Aboard!" exclaimed Thurstane, and he made a step as if to reach the shore
or to plunge into the sea.

"I am sorry for you," said Coronado, with a simplicity which seemed like
sincerity. "I thought it my duty to warn you."

"I cannot go back," groaned the young fellow. "I must go to San Diego. I
am under orders."

"You must avoid her. Go to bed late. Get up early. Keep out of her way."

Turning his back, Thurstane walked away from this cruel and hated
counsellor, not thinking at all of him however, but rather of the deep
beneath, a refuge from trouble.

We must slip back to his last adventure with Texas Smith, and learn a
little of what happened to him then and up to the present time.

It will be remembered how the bushwhacker sat in ambush; how, just as he
was about to fire at his proposed victim, his horse whinnied; and how this
whinny caused Thurstane's mule to rear suddenly and violently. The rearing
saved the rider's life, for the bullet which was meant for the man buried
itself in the forehead of the beast, and in the darkness the assassin did
not discover his error. But so severe was the fall and so great
Thurstane's weakness that he lost his senses and did not come to himself
until daybreak.

There he was, once more abandoned to the desert, but rich in a full
haversack and a dead mule. Having breakfasted, and thereby given head and
hand a little strength, he set to work to provide for the future by
cutting slices from the carcass and spreading them out to dry, well
knowing that this land of desolation could furnish neither wolf nor bird
of prey to rob his larder. This work done, he pushed on at his best speed,
found and fed his companions, and led them back to the mule, their
storehouse. After a day of rest and feasting came a march to the Cactus
Pass, where the three were presently picked up by a caravan bound to Santa
Fe, which carried them on for a number of days until they met a train of
emigrants going west. Thus it was that Glover reached California, and
Thurstane and Sweeny Fort Yuma.

Once in quiet, the young fellow broke down, and for weeks was too sick to
write to Clara, or to any one. As soon as he could sit up he sent off
letter after letter, but after two months of anxious suspense no answer
had come, and he began to fear th