opez said.

"It's--it's wrong!"

The bandit smiled his winning smile. "Whose beeziness what we do if we like
for do him?"

"Please don't take me with you!" Lucia appealed. Why had Morgan Pell ever
brought her to this border line? She might have known better than to come.
It was no place for a young and attractive woman.

"You don't wish to go?" Lopez questioned, hardly believing that any pretty
woman could resist his charms.

"No," cried Lucia.

"You mean you wish to stay married wiz one man?"

"Ye-es," Lucia faltered.

"Never no life? Never no fun? Ha! If you was old, fat--zen, perhaps. But
young, beautiful! For why was you born if you no wish to leeve?"

"But I do wish to live!" Lucia cried in desperation; and her hands went out
in an attitude of supplication.

Lopez appraised her once more. "But when I come along an' show you 'ow you
raise 'ell and say no. Ees great honor to be took by Pancho Lopez into
Mexico. Like 'ow you say, ze decoration for ze chest," and he indicated the
spot on his coat where a war medal might be placed.

Just then, to Lucia's relief, the cook came in, bearing a tray laden with
chile con carne, bread and butter, and sugar, and placed it on the table.
His fright was still evident. His hands trembled, his legs shook.

"Ah! Ze food!" Pancho cried. "Good! Put zem zere!" he ordered; and the cook
placed the tray closer to him. Then he turned to Lucia Pell. "You shall
wait on me," he told her, as though he were conferring the greatest honor
upon her.

Angela came close to him, eager again to please him. He merely pushed her
to one side, and had eyes only for Lucia. "You!" he said, looking her
straight in the face. He sat down, and scanned the tray, while the cook
stood in terror, not daring to leave the room, but wishing to God this
moment were over. Had he forgotten anything?

"I do not see ze coffee," Pancho said at last.

"I get for you!" the cook screamed in a shrill voice, and rushed for the
kitchen.

"_Pronto_," Lopez said. Then, to Lucia, "Ze bread." She leaned over to get
a piece for him. He watched her carefully. "Your hand is shake. For why?
You 'fraid from me, perhaps?"

She admitted that she was afraid--a little.

"And why?" he inquired.

"Because I've heard that you kill people," she bravely told him.

"Oh, but that isn't so!" Angela broke in, fearful that the mere mention of
killing would bring about a murder then and there. "I'm sure it isn't!"
Nothing must b