This work well under way, he hastened to the brow of the hill and reconnoitred the enemy.

“They are not going to attack,” said Coronado.  “They are going to torture the girl Pepita.”

Thurstane turned away sick at heart, observing, “I must keep the women in the Casa.”

CHAPTER XXIV.

When Thurstane, turning his back on the torture scene, had ascended to the roof of the Casa, he found the ladies excited and anxious.

“What is the matter?” asked Clara at once, taking hold of his sleeve with the tips of her fingers, in a caressing, appealing way, which was common with her when talking to those she liked.

Ordinarily our officer was a truth-teller; indeed, there was nothing which came more awkwardly to him than deception; he hated and despised it as if it were a personage, a criminal, an Indian.  But here was a case where he must stoop to falsification, or at least to concealment.

“The Apaches are just below,” he mumbled.  “Not one of you women must venture out.  I will see to everything.  Be good now.”

She gave his sleeve a little twitch, smiled confidingly in his face, and sat down to do some much-needed mending.

Having posted Sweeny at the foot of the ladders, with instructions to let none of the women descend, Thurstane hastened back to the exterior wall, drawn by a horrible fascination.  With his field-glass he could distinguish every action of the tragedy which was being enacted on the plain.  Pepita, entirely stripped of her clothing, was already bound to the sapling which stood by the side of the rivulet, and twenty or thirty of the Apaches were dancing around her in a circle, each one approaching her in turn, howling in her ears and spitting in her face.  The young man had read and heard much of the horrors of that torture-dance, which stamps the American Indian as the most ferocious of savages; but be had not understood at all how large a part insult plays in this ceremony of deliberate cruelty; and, insulting a woman! he had not once dream’ed it.  Now, when he saw it done, his blood rushed into his head and he burst forth in choked incoherent curses.

“I can’t stand this,” he shouted, advancing upon Coronado with clenched fists.  “We must charge.”

The Mexican shook his head in a sickly, scared way, and pointed to the left.  There was a covering party of fifty or sixty warriors; it was not more than a quarter of a mile from the eastern end of the enclosure; it was in position to charge either upon that, or upon the flank of any rescuing sally.

“We can do it,” insisted the lieutenant, who felt as if he could fight twenty men.

“We can’t,” replied Coronado.  “I won’t go, and my men shan’t go.”

Thurstane thought of Clara, covered his face with his hands, and sobbed aloud.  Texas Smith stared at him with a kind of contemptuous pity, and offered such consolation as it was in his nature to give.