to lie there moping? Answer me--I thought you were a
man--a gentleman."

The words were like a blow in his face, and under their sting he
staggered to his feet; scarlet blazed in both his cheeks.

"You have no right to say that to me," he said angrily. "I'm not that
kind."

"I know it," she admitted, "but you lose your nerve; this isn't your
game. Well, it isn't mine either, for the matter of that.
Nevertheless it has got to be played, and we're going to play it
together. Those fellows will be at that door presently--just so soon
as Mendez tells them who are inside here. They'll try us once, and, if
we can beat them back, that will give us a breathing spell."

She paused, glancing swiftly about, listening to the increasing hubbub
without.

"There is no other way they can break in except through this door,
unless, perhaps, they smash that shutter. Two of us ought to hold them
for some time."

"But we have only one weapon--that knife is no use."

"There is a sawed-off shotgun back yonder; go get it, and hunt for some
cartridges. They may be in the cupboard--quick now; that's Mendez's
voice, and he'll be savage."

There was a shouting of commands without in Spanish, punctuated by
oaths, the meaning of which the girl alone understood. She leaned
forward, her eyes on the door, the cocked revolver held ready. She had
meant what she said to Cavendish; to her mind death was far preferable
to any surrender to that infuriated Mexican; she expected death, but
one hope yet buoyed her up--Westcott. Odd that any memory of him
should have come to her at that moment--yet it did; as though he spoke,
and bade her believe in his coming. She had thought of him before,
often in the past two days, but now he was real, tangible; she could
almost feel the strong grip of his hand, and hear the sound of his
voice. It was exactly as though the man called to her, and she
responded. A dream, or what, it brought her courage, hope.

He would come; she had faith in that--and he would find she had fought
to the end, even if he came too late. She buried her face in her
hands, stifling a sob that shook her body, yet when she lifted the head
again, there was no glimmer of tears in her eyes, and her cheeks were
crimson. She waited motionless, scarcely seeming to breathe--the
statue of a woman at bay.

All this was but for a moment, a moment of swift thought, of equally
swift decision. The next Cavendish stood beside her, graspi