Thorne was evidently laboring under strong, suppressed excitement. His
face showed pale under the tan, and his eyes gleamed with a dark fire.
Occasionally his delight at meeting, talking with Gale, dominated the
other emotions, but not for long. He had seated himself at a table
near one of the doorlike windows leading into the street, and every
little while he would glance sharply out. Also he kept consulting his
watch.

These details gradually grew upon Gale as Thorne talked.

"George, it strikes me that you're upset," said Dick, presently. "I
seem to remember you as a cool-headed fellow whom nothing could
disturb. Has the army changed you?"

Thorne laughed. It was a laugh with a strange, high note. It was
reckless--it hinted of exaltation. He rose abruptly; he gave the
waiter money to go for drinks; he looked into the saloon, and then into
the street. On this side of the house there was a porch opening on a
plaza with trees and shrubbery and branches. Thorne peered out one
window, then another. His actions were rapid. Returning to the table,
he put his hands upon it and leaned over to look closely into Gale's
face.

"I'm away from camp without leave," he said.

"Isn't that a serious offense?" asked Dick.

"Serious? For me, if I'm discovered, it means ruin. There are rebels
in town. Any moment we might have trouble. I ought to be ready for
duty--within call. If I'm discovered it means arrest. That means
delay--the failure of my plans--ruin."

Gale was silenced by his friend's intensity. Thorne bent over closer
with his dark eyes searching bright.

"We were old pals--once?"

"Surely," replied Dick.

"What would you say, Dick Gale, if I told you that you're the one man
I'd rather have had come along than any other at this crisis of my
life?"

The earnest gaze, the passionate voice with its deep tremor drew Dick
upright, thrilling and eager, conscious of strange, unfamiliar
impetuosity.

"Thorne, I should say I was glad to be the fellow," replied Dick.

Their hands locked for a moment, and they sat down again with heads
close over the table.

"Listen," began Thorne, in low, swift whisper, "a few days, a week
ago--it seems like a year!--I was of some assistance to refugees
fleeing from Mexico into the States. They were all women, and one of
them was dressed as a nun. Quite by accident I saw her face. It was
that of a beautiful girl. I observed she kept aloof from the others.
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