ired men thus far. On horseback, there were six Mexicans, nominally
cattle-drivers going to California, but really guards for the
expedition--the most courageous bullies that could be picked up in Santa
Fe, each armed with pistols and a rifle. Finally, there were Coronado and
his terrible henchman, Texas Smith, with their rifles and revolvers. Old
Garcia perspired with anguish as he looked over his caravan, and figured
up the cost in his head.

Thurstane, wretched at heart, but with a cheering smile on his lips, came
to bid the ladies farewell.

"What do you think of this?" Aunt Maria called to him from her seat in one
of the covered wagons. "We are going a thousand miles through deserts and
savages. You men suppose that women have no courage. I call this heroism."

"Certainly," nodded the young fellow, not thinking of her at all, unless
it was that she was next door to an idiot.

Although his mind was so full of Clara that it did not seem as if he could
receive an impression from any other human being, his attention was for a
moment arrested by a countenance which struck him as being more ferocious
than he had ever seen before except on the shoulders of an Apache. A tall
man in Mexican costume, with a scar on his chin and another on his cheek,
was glaring at him with two intensely black and savage eyes. It was Texas
Smith, taking the measure of Thurstane's fighting power and disposition. A
hint from Coronado had warned the borderer that here was a person whom it
might be necessary some day to get rid of. The officer responded to this
ferocious gaze with a grim, imperious stare, such as one is apt to acquire
amid the responsibilities and dangers of army life. It was like a wolf and
a mastiff surveying each other.

Thurstane advanced to Clara, helped her into her saddle, and held her hand
while he urged her to be careful of herself, never to wander from the
train, never to be alone, etc. The girl turned a little pale; it was not
exactly because of his anxious manner; it was because of the eloquence
that there is in a word of parting. At the moment she felt so alone in the
world, in such womanish need of sympathy, that had he whispered to her,
"Be my wife," she might have reached out her hands to him. But Thurstane
was far from guessing that an angel could have such weak impulses; and he
no more thought of proposing to her thus abruptly than of ascending
off-hand into heaven.

Coronado observed the scene, and guessin