at any reason why they should lose all the fun? and why could not
girls stay at home where they belonged?

But Rita herself cried out and clasped her hands, and ran to her cousin.
"Oh, Cousin Jim--Senor Delmonte--let me go with you! Please, please let
me go back. My poor Manuela--Marm Prudence--they may be hurt, wounded.
There can be no danger with all these brave men. Cousin, I have been in
a camp hospital, I know how to dress wounds. I can be quiet--Senor
Delmonte, tell him I can be quiet!"

She looked eagerly at Delmonte.

"I can tell him that you are the bravest girl I ever saw," he said.
"But, you have been through a great deal. I don't like to have you go
back among those rascals."

James Montfort stroked his brown beard thoughtfully.

"Guess it's safe enough," he said at last. "Guess there's enough of us
to handle 'em. Don't know but on the whole she'll be better off with
us. My sister Peggy wouldn't like to miss any circus there was going,
would she, little girl? Catch another of those beasts for the lady,
Bill!"

Rita, with one of her quick gestures, caught his great hand in both
hers. "Oh, you good cousin!" she cried. "You dear cousin! You are the
very best and the very biggest person in the world, and I love you."

"Well, well, well!" said Cousin Jim, somewhat embarrassed. "There,
there! so you shall, my dear; so you shall. But as for being big, you
should see Lanky 'Liph of Bone Gulch. Now there--but here is your horse,
missy."

The horses of the dead Spaniards had been circling about them, more or
less shyly. Two of them were quickly caught by the rough riders, and
Rita and Delmonte mounted. As they did so, both glanced toward the spot
where lay the brave horse that had borne them so well.

"It was for life indeed, Aquila!" said Captain Jack, softly. His eyes
met Rita's, and she saw the brightness of tears in them. Next moment
they were galloping back to the _residencia_.

They came only just in time. Not ten minutes had passed since they left
the courtyard, but in that time the savage Spaniards had done their work
well. The house itself was in flames, and burning fiercely. Good Don
Annunzio lay dead, carbine in hand, on the steps of his ruined home.
Beside him lay the Creole youth in whose charge Delmonte had left
Manuela. The lad was still alive, for as Delmonte bent from the saddle
above him he raised his head.

"I did my best, my captain!" he said. "They were too many."

"Where are they?"