changed! He was changed as bland
Mephisto would change a man, if the material were adaptable and Mephisto
an artist. Such exquisite gentleness in peril and in slaying could be no
other than the devil's own, and in the most devilishly artistic mood of
that suave dilettante.

It was natural that any man should color somewhat into a desperado,
considering such an existence among those Sierras, but Driscoll was a
desperado refined by cynicism. And yet there was still naught of
self-consciousness in it all. The change had not been abrupt, but
gradual, as a growing into maturity. The roughened native instincts of a
gentleman had sobered from Quixotic impulses into a diabolic calm. His
bravery was turned to cool and almost supernatural self possession,
mocked withal by gentleness. And yet he was not a villain. To the
mutineers, to those who beheld his smile, he seemed a fiend. But his
horse knew no change in him, which was significant. Something had gone
wrong, that was all. The young man who had looked out on the world, half
challenging, half expectant, must have seen too suddenly that part of
life which is unlovely. However, the thing may not be thus easily
explained. The soul of a man, when bent or distorted under stress, is a
weird and fearful growth. One may contemplate it in awe; but understand
it, never.

More than a year before, when Driscoll changed sides, he was embarrassed
to find a side to change to, so thoroughly had the Empire swept away all
vestiges of the Liberal strength. But on achieving that farewell of his
to Mendez, he rode happily southward, with some vague notion of tracking
the Republic into Michoacan. The first night he slept under the stars
mid tunas and Spanish daggers, and when he awoke it was to find a
strange Indito squatting patiently at his feet. He sat up and rubbed his
eyes at what might have been a Hindoo image, except that it doffed a
straw sombrero.

"Y'r Mercy is awake?" queried the idol.

"N-o, but it will probably not be long now. Who in thunder are you?"

The Indito explained, and Driscoll covered his knees with his hands, and
stared and grew more astounded. The ragged fellow said that he had
escaped from Mendez's camp by squirming on his belly through the cacti,
and he had followed the American senor, on foot. He was, he added, a
Republican spy.

Driscoll mechanically drew his pistol, but recalled that now he also was
Republican.

"But why follow me?" he demanded.

"I was s