ck birds sitting upon the tiled roof of a house. They
had neither an air of sleeping nor resting. They were waiting. She
fought off a horrible ghastly idea before its full realization. These
rebels and guerrillas--what lean, yellow, bearded wretches! They
curiously watched Link as he went working over the car. No two were
alike, and all were ragged. They had glittering eyes sunk deep in their
heads. They wore huge sombreros of brown and black felt, of straw, of
cloth. Every man wore a belt or sash into which was thrust some kind of
weapon. Some wore boots, some shoes, some moccasins, some sandals, and
many were barefooted. They were an excited, jabbering, gesticulating
mob. Madeline shuddered to think how a frenzy to spill blood could run
through these poor revolutionists. If it was liberty they fought for,
they did not show the intelligence in their faces. They were like wolves
upon a scent. They affronted her, shocked her. She wondered if their
officers were men of the same class. What struck her at last and stirred
pity in her was the fact that every man of the horde her swift glance
roamed over, however dirty and bedraggled he was, wore upon him some
ornament, some tassel or fringe or lace, some ensign, some band,
bracelet, badge, or belt, some twist of scarf, something that betrayed
the vanity which was the poor jewel of their souls. It was in the race.

Suddenly the crowd parted to let the cavalry officer and a rebel of
striking presence get to the car.

"Madam, it is as I suspected," said the officer, quickly. "The
messages directing Stewart's release never reached Salazar. They were
intercepted. But even without them we might have secured Stewart's
exchange if it had not been for the fact that one of his captors
wanted him shot. This guerrilla intercepted the orders, and then was
instrumental in taking Stewart to Mezquital. It is exceedingly sad. Why,
he should be a free man this instant. I regret--"

"Who did this--this thing?" cried Madeline, cold and sick. "Who is the
guerrilla?"

"Senor Don Carlos Martinez. He has been a bandit, a man of influence in
Sonora. He is more of a secret agent in the affairs of the revolution
than an active participator. But he has seen guerrilla service."

"Don Carlos! Stewart in his power! O God!" Madeline sank down, almost
overcome. Then two great hands, powerful, thrilling, clasped her
shoulders, and Nels bent over her.

"Miss Majesty, shore we're wastin' time here," he s