w two dark
figures. He ran faster, and soon reached the street. The uproar back
in the hotel began to diminish, or else he was getting out of hearing.
The few people he saw close at hand were all coming his way, and only
the foremost showed any excitement. Gale walked swiftly, peering ahead
for two figures. Presently he saw them--one tall, wearing a cape; the
other slight, mantled. Gale drew a sharp breath of relief. Throne and
Mercedes were not far ahead.

From time to time Thorne looked back. He strode swiftly, almost
carrying Mercedes, who clung closely to him. She, too, looked back.
Once Gale saw her white face flash in the light of a street lamp. He
began to overhaul them; and soon, when the last lamp had been passed
and the street was dark, he ventured a whistle. Thorne heard it, for
he turned, whistled a low reply, and went on. Not for some distance
beyond, where the street ended in open country, did they halt to wait.
The desert began here. Gale felt the soft sand under his feet and saw
the grotesque forms of cactus. Then he came up with the fugitives.

"Dick! Are you--all right?" panted Thorne, grasping Gale.

"I'm--out of breath--but--O.K.," replied Gale.

"Good! Good!" choked Thorne. "I was scared--helpless.... Dick, it
worked splendidly. We had no trouble. What on earth did you do?"

"I made the row, all right," said Dick.

"Good Heavens! It was like a row I once heard made by a mob. But the
shots, Dick--were they at you? They paralyzed me. Then the yells.
What happened? Those guards of Rojas ran round in front at the first
shot. Tell me what happened."

"While I was rushing Rojas a couple of cowboys shot out the lamplights.
A Mexican who pulled a knife on me got hurt, I guess. Then I think
there was some shooting from the rebels after the room was dark."

"Rushing Rojas?" queried Thorne, leaning close to Dick. His voice was
thrilling, exultant, deep with a joy that yet needed confirmation.
"What did you do to him?"

"I handed him one off side, tackled, then tried a forward pass,"
replied Dick, lightly speaking the football vernacular so familiar to
Thorne.

Thorne leaned closer, his fine face showing fierce and corded in the
starlight. "Tell me straight," he demanded, in thick voice.

Gale then divined something of the suffering Thorne had
undergone--something of the hot, wild, vengeful passion of a lover who
must have brutal truth.

It stilled Dick's lighter mood, and