“Go at once,” he decided without a moment’s hesitation.  “My dear cousin, it will be the happy turning point of your fortunes.  I fancy you already inheriting the hoards, city lots, haciendas, mines, and cattle of our excellent relative Munoz—­long may he live to enjoy them!  Certainly.  Don’t whisper an objection.  Munoz owes you that reparation.  His conduct has been—­we will not describe it—­we will hope that he means to make amends for it.  Unquestionably he will.  My dear cousin, nothing can resist you.  You will enchant your grandfather.  It will all end, like the tales of the Arabian Nights, in your living in a palace.  How delightful to think of this long family quarrel at last coming to a close!  But how do you go?”

“If Miss Van Diemen goes overland, I can do something toward protecting her and making her comfortable,” suggested Thurstane.  “I am ordered to Fort Yuma.”

Coronado glanced at the young officer, noted the guilty blush which peeped out of his tanned cheek, and came to a decision on the instant.

“Overland!” he exclaimed, lifting both his hands.  “Take her overland!  My God! my God!”

Thurstane reddened at the insinuation that he had given bad advice to Miss Van Diemen; but though he wanted to fight the Mexican, he controlled himself, and did not even argue.  Like all sensitive and at the same time self-respectful persons, he was exceedingly considerate of the feelings of others, and was a very lamb in conversation.

“It is a desert,” continued Coronado in a kind of scream of horror.  “It is a waterless desert, without a blade of grass, and haunted from end to end by Apaches.  My little cousin would die of thirst and hunger.  She would be hunted and scalped.  O my God! overland!”

“Emigrant parties are going all the while,” ventured Thurstane, very angry at such extravagant opposition, but merely looking a little stiff.

“Certainly.  You are right, Lieutenant,” bowed Coronado.  “They do go.  But how many perish on the way?  They march between the unburied and withered corpses of their predecessors.  And what a journey for a woman—­for a lady accustomed to luxury—­for my little cousin!  I beg your pardon, my dear Lieutenant Thurstane, for disagreeing with you.  My advice is—­the isthmus.”

“I have, of course, nothing, to say,” admitted the officer, returning Coronado’s bow.  “The family must decide.”

“Certainly, the isthmus, the steamers,” went on the fluent Mexican.  “You sail to Panama.  You have an easy and safe land trip of a few days.  Then steamers again.  Poff! you are there.  By all means, the isthmus.”