my master, and if anything were to
happen to him I should lose my situation. What am I to do?"

"Oh, you'd easily get another, and better. A man of your strength-- By
the way, talking of strength, my good Manuel, you don't seem to have
quite recovered from your journey, which must have been long and
fatiguing. Take another _copita_; you're in need of it; 'twill do you
good."

Pressure of this sort put upon an Indian, be he _bravo_ or _manso_, is
rarely resisted. Nor is it in Manuel's case. He readily yields to it,
and tosses off another glass of the aguardiente.

Before the strong alcohol can have fairly filtered down into his stomach
its fumes ascend to his skull.

The cowed, cautious manner--a marked characteristic of his race--now
forsakes him; the check-strings of his tongue become relaxed, and, with
nothing before his mind save his scheme of vengeance, and that of
securing Conchita, he betrays the whole secret of Colonel Miranda's
escape--the story of his retreat across the Staked Plain, and his
residence in the lone valley.

When he further informs Uraga about the two guests who have strayed to
this solitary spot, and, despite his maudlin talk, minutely describes
the men, his listener utters a loud cry, accompanied by a gesture of
such violence as to overturn the table, sending bottle and glasses over
the floor.

He does not stay to see the damage righted, but with a shout that
reverberates throughout the whole house, summons his adjutant, and also
the corporal of his guard.

"_Cabo_!" he cries, addressing himself to the latter in a tone at once
vociferous and commanding; "take this man to the guard-house! And see
you keep him there, so that he may be forthcoming when wanted. Take
heed to hold him safe. If he be missing, you shall be shot ten minutes
after I receive the report of it. You have the word of Gil Uraga for
that."

From the way the corporal makes prisoner the surprised peon, almost
throttling him, it is evident he does not intend running any risk of
being shot for letting the latter escape. The Indian appears suddenly
sobered by the rough treatment he is receiving. But he is too much
astonished to find speech for protest. Mute, and without offering the
slightest resistance, he is dragged out through the open doorway, to all
appearance more dead than alive.

"Come, Roblez!" hails his superior officer, as soon as the door has
closed behind the guard corporal and his captive, "Drin