o go to Juarez? But if
he, uh, happened to get loose, he might just possibly be influenced to
think of the Juarez proposal. But actually buying his way out would look
dishonorable. "Now," he concluded abruptly, "run along, and put it that
way to whoever sent you."

The man protested, and in some genuine alarm, that he had no employers.

"Oh all right," said Driscoll easily, "then you're bound to help me.
Because if you don't, I'll sure tell Lopez what you've just been trying
to hatch up here."

The trap worked beautifully, for the guard tried hard to quake. But his
fright was not spontaneous enough. Driscoll smiled. Now he knew the real
player in the game.

"Cheer up, Johnny," he spoke soothingly, "I'd not tell on you. But
hadn't you better go and think it over by yourself a little?"

The Baptist would hasten straight to Lopez, and Lopez, Driscoll foresaw,
would interpret his scruples into a disguised acceptance. The
crookedness of the game left the American no other trump, and he played
it--against immediate death. Lopez, of course, would send him under
guard to Juarez, but Driscoll thought he could trust that staunch old
Roman, when once informed, to call for a new deck and an honest deal.

Juan Bautista "thought it over" outside, and directly returned with an
answer. But when he again left Driscoll, he did not bar the door behind
him. Within ten minutes thereafter Driscoll was creeping past a sleeping
sentinel, on between rows of maguey, toward the road. Around him hovered
five or six shadows. They were to be his escort and take him to Juarez.
They would join him openly a safe distance away, at a place where their
horses waited. But as he emerged upon the road, for the moment alone, a
voice in French challenged sharply. "Halte-la!"

The shadows hesitated an instant, then showed themselves with energy.
They sprang out and closed on their "escaped" prisoner. They handled him
more roughly than did the Contra Guerrillas, who had first cried "Halt,"
and who were now appearing as by magic. The blended anger and
gratification of the shadows over the escape and recapture was
vociferously sincere.

"Take them all, mes enfants," a huge tone of command filled the
darkness. It was Colonel Dupin. He had that moment arrived. Jacqueline's
message had reached him in the City not an hour before. The American had
escaped, it said; he was at Tuxtla. The Tiger, knowing nothing of Lopez
lying in wait for the same American at the