ng the
shotgun, no longer a victim of weakness, his eyes meeting hers eagerly.

"I could only find twelve cartridges," he exclaimed, "but I know how to
use those."

He took a step forward, and held out his hand.

"Forgive me, Miss Donovan," he pleaded. "Really I do not know what
makes me like that, but you would make a man out of anybody."

Her firm, slim fingers met his eagerly, her eyes instantly glowing in
appreciation.

"Of course I forgive you," she exclaimed. "Your fear is no greater
than my own. I am a woman, and dread this sort of thing. All that
gives me courage is the knowledge that death is preferable to
dishonour," her voice lost its firmness, "and--and my faith in a man."

"You mean in possible rescue?"

Her eyes lifted to his face.

"Yes, Mr. Cavendish. It may prove all imagination, yet there is one--a
real man, I am sure--who must know of my plight before this. If he
does, and lives, he will come to me. If we can only defend ourselves
long enough there will be rescue."

He hesitated, yet something told him this was no time to fear asking
all.

"Surely you are not married? Of course not; then he----"

"Is merely a friend; no, there has been no other word spoken between
us, yet," her voice trembling slightly, "there are secrets a woman
knows instinctively without speech. I know this man cares--enough to
come. Isn't that strange, Mr. Cavendish, when we have only met three
times?"

"No," he said gallantly, "not to any one who has known you. I believe
you might even trust me. Where is this man?"

"In Haskell; but please do not ask any more--there! They are coming."

A blow struck the outer door, and was repeated, evidently dealt by the
butt of a gun; then the two, standing silent and almost breathless
within, heard Mendez's voice. There was no mistaking his slow,
carefully chosen English.

"_Senorita_, and you also, Senor Cavendish," he called his words
intended to be conciliatory. "It is of no use that you resist. We are
many and armed. If you surrender, and not fight, I pledge you
protection."

The girl glanced at Cavendish.

"You answer him."

He stepped closer to the door.

"Protection from whom?" he asked briefly.

"From my men; I am Pasqual Mendez."

"But you propose holding us prisoners? You intend delivering us up to
the man Lacy as soon as he arrives?"

"Yes," he admitted, "but I hold no animosity--none. The _senorita_
need not fear. I will intercede