by a Mexican leading a pack-horse. The first
rider was straight, tall, and wide-shouldered; also he was deep-chested
and lean-loined, forty-five or thereabout, and had "Texan" written all
over his weather-beaten face and costume. At sight of him Steve gave a
silent whoop of joy. A white man had come to Noche Buena, a Texan (he
was ready to swear), and he wore his big serviceable six-guns low. Also,
he carried on his face and in his bearing the look of reckless
competence that comes only from death faced in the open fearlessly and
often.

Inside of five minutes Cabenza had gathered information as follows: Adam
Holcomb was a soldier of fortune who had fought all over South America
and Mexico. During the Spanish War he had been a Rough Rider in Cuba and
later had been a volunteer officer in the Philippines. The army routine
had no attraction for him. What he liked was actual fighting. So the
outbreak of the Revolution had drawn him across the border, where he had
done much to lick the Constitutionalist troops into shape. Now he had
come to Noche Buena to teach the artillery of the Legion how to shoot
straight, after which they would all march south and take the great city
with the golden gates. Personally this Gringo was a devil, of course,
but Pasquale was a prince of devils whose business it was to keep all
lesser ones in order. So, in the Spanish equivalent of our American
slang, they should worry. Thus a comrade explained the Texan and his
presence to Pedro.

Cabenza contrived to be in the way when someone was wanted to fill the
water-jug of Holcomb. Ochampa, who for the moment had charge of the
artillery officer, swooped down upon the peon and put him temporarily at
the service of his guest to fetch and carry at his orders. So Pedro
unpacked the belongings of the American officer and prepared what had to
serve as the substitute for a bath. He was so adept at this that the
captain privately decided to requisition him for his servant.

Having finished this and laid out towels, Cabenza brushed the boots of
the captain outside while that gentleman splashed within the cabin. He
chose the time while he was arranging the shaving-outfit on the table to
convey a piece of information to Holcomb.

"What's that? An American woman--held captive at his house by Pasquale,"
repeated the soldier of fortune, astonished.

"A girl, not a woman. About eighteen, maybe," supplemented Cabenza, in
Mexican, of course.

"A woman from th