aid. His voice, like
his hands, was uplifting. She wheeled to him in trembling importunity.
How cold, bright, blue the flash of his eyes! They told Madeline she
must not weaken. But she could not speak her thought to Nels--could only
look at Link.

"It figgers impossible, but I'll do it!" said Link Stevens, in answer
to her voiceless query. The cold, grim, wild something about her cowboys
blanched Madeline's face, steeled her nerve, called to the depths of her
for that last supreme courage of a woman. The spirit of the moment was
nature with Link and Nels; with her it must be passion.

"Can I get a permit to go into the interior--to Mezquital?" asked
Madeline of the officer.

"You are going on? Madam, it's a forlorn hope. Mezquital is a hundred
miles away. But there's a chance--the barest chance if your man can
drive this car. The Mexicans are either murderous or ceremonious in
their executions. The arrangements for Stewart's will be elaborate. But,
barring unusual circumstances, it will take place precisely at the hour
designated. You need no permit. Your messages are official papers. But
to save time, perhaps delay, I suggest you take this Mexican, Senor
Montes, with you. He outranks Don Carlos and knows the captain of the
Mezquital detachment."

"Ah! Then Don Carlos is not in command of the forces holding Stewart?"

"No."

"I thank you, sir. I shall not forget your kindness," concluded
Madeline.

She bowed to Senor Montes, and requested him to enter the car. Nels
stowed some of the paraphernalia away, making room in the rear seat.
Link bent over the wheel. The start was so sudden, with such crack and
roar, that the crowd split in wild disorder. Out of the plaza the car
ran, gathering headway; down a street lined by white and blue walls;
across a square where rebels were building barricades; along a railroad
track full of iron flat-cars that carried mounted pieces of artillery;
through the outlying guards, who waved to the officer, Montes.

Madeline bound her glasses tightly over her eyes, and wound veils round
the lower part of her face. She was all in a strange glow, she had begun
to burn, to throb, to thrill, to expand, and she meant to see all that
was possible. The sullen sun, red as fire, hung over the mountain range
in the west. How low it had sunk! Before her stretched a narrow, white
road, dusty, hard as stone--a highway that had been used for centuries.
If it had been wide enough to permit passing