he porch to lift him to the
couch, and she and the girl fanned him and chafed his thin wrists. When
he came to himself he was intensely chagrined. "I'm all right," he said
impatiently, sitting up. "I wish you wouldn't bother."

"Lie still for a bit," said Mrs. King. "You've had a nasty faint."

Honor saw his painful flush. "Cartie, it's no wonder you fainted,--I
feel as if I might, any minute. And I did nearly faint once, didn't I,
Mrs. King? The day I arrived here--remember?" She remembered all too
keenly herself ... the instant of relaxed blackness that followed on the
sound of Richard King's hearty voice--"Why, the boy's all right!
Ab-so-lutely all right! Isn't he, Madeline? Steady as a clock. That
college nonsense--" And the contrast between that day of faith
triumphant and this dark night was so sharp and cruel that she could not
talk any more, even to comfort Carter. They were all silent, so that
they clearly heard the unlocking, the opening, the closing of the door
of Jimsy's room, and then a step--a swift, sure step upon the stair.

Then Yaqui Juan walked into the _sala_.

"_Juan!_" They sprang at him, galvanized into life and vigor at the
sight of him. But he stood still, staring at them with a look of scorn
and dislike, his arms folded across his chest.

"_Juan_," Mrs. King faltered,--"_no agua_?" It was incredible. He was
back, safely back, untouched, not even breathing hard. Where was the
water he had risked his life to bring them? The Englishwoman began to
cry, childishly, whimpering. "I can't bear it ... I can't bear it ... I
wanted it for Rich' ... for Rich'!"

The Indian did not speak, but his scornful, accusing eyes, raking them
all, came to rest on Honor, fixing her with pitiless intensity.

The girl was shaking so that she could hardly stand; she caught hold of
the back of a tall chair to steady herself. "Juan,--you came out of
Senor Don Diego's room?" she whispered.

"_Si, Senorita._" He was watching the dawning light in her face, but the
sternness of his own did not soften.

"You didn't go at all," wept Mrs. King, rocking to and fro and wringing
her hands. "You didn't go at all!"

"_No, Senora._"

Honor Carmody screamed, a hoarse, exultant shout. It was as she had
screamed in the old good days when Jimsy King, the ball clutched to his
side, tore down the field and went over the line for a touchdown. "Jimsy
went! Jimsy went! _Jimsy went!_ It was Jimsy! _Jimsy!_" She flung her
arms over h