bundle he had carried behind his saddle, were found in
his room at the House. Jacqueline took them into the carriage with her,
along with that absurd little valise that she had brought from the ship
for an hour's jaunt on shore. Driscoll rode with Ney and the Austrians,
and was once again headed toward the capital, still sixty fair Mexican
leagues southward.

For six days it was an uneventful journey, seemingly. By day there were
sierras, and valleys, and wayside crosses marking violent deaths. By
night they accepted either ranchero hospitality or put up at some
village meson. But within himself, adventures were continuous and
varying for the Storm Centre. He could not account for the strange,
curious elation that possessed him, especially when Jacqueline would
take Ney's horse and ride at his side, perhaps for an hour, when the sun
was not too hot. Driscoll never knew how long these occasions lasted. He
did not know that they were long at all. As a matter of fact, he had
ceased using ordinary standards of measurement. The universe, and sordid
accessories such as time, radiated entirely about one little velvet
patch near a dimple satellite.

There came to be long silences between them as they rode, either boy or
girl content to have it so, and neither the least bit lonesome. And they
talked too, naturally, though this was not so significant. She would
slyly provoke him. To her mind, there was never anyone quite so
satisfying at a quarrel. She would pause in delighted expectancy to see
his eyes grow big when she thrust, and then to see his mouth twitch at
the corners as he caught her blade on his own keen wit. She had
forgotten that he was rustic, except for the added zest it gave. Nor was
there a false note in him, so happily and totally unconscious was he of
self. And as for a certain gaucherie, that was the spice to his whole
manner.

They talked of many things; rather, she made him talk. She learned that
his name was John, as hers was Jeanne, and she wanted to know why the
horse was Demijohn.

"Because, Miss Jack-leen," he answered, "he's my other half, and
sometimes the better one, too." He remembered that once, when he had
drooped limp over the saddle, the buckskin had carried him out of the
fighting to the rear. "You see," he added, "we were both colts when our
little shindy up there broke loose."

"And you both went? Ah, Monsieur the Patriot, you did go, you did
affront the tyrant? Yes!" She had the explore