“He is a youth, hot-blooded and impulsive, Senor Commandante.”  Swiftly, and to Hull’s intense embarrassment, she knelt before him.  “We love him so:  my mother, who is ill, and I,” she pleaded.  “He is all we have....  Ah, senor, you will spare him—­our Benito!”

“Get up,” said Hull a trifle brusquely.  His tone, too, shook a little.  “Confound it, girl, I’m not a murderer.”  He forced a smile.  “If my men haven’t shot the young scoundrel you may have him back.”

“And that,” he added, as the girl rose with a shining rapture in her eyes, “may be tomorrow.”  He picked up a paper from the desk and regarded it thoughtfully.  “There is truce at present.  Sanchez will surrender if I give my word that there shall be no further raids.”

“And—­you will do this, Commandante?” the girl asked, breathlessly.

“I—­will consult with Brannan, Leidesdorff and Spear, as you suggested,” Hull replied.  But his eyes were kind.  The Senorita Inez had her answer.  Impetuously, her arms went around his neck.  An instant later, dazed, a little red, a moist spot on his cheek and a lingering fragrance clinging subtly like the touch of vanished arms, Hull watched her flying heels upon the muddy square.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he said, explosively.

* * * * *

In the room which had been Inez’ whilom prison—­and which proved to be the only one available in the City Hotel, Adrian Stanley lay tossing and muttering.  The woman who sat at his bedside watched anxiously each movement of his lips, listening eagerly to catch the incoherent, whispered words.  For a time she could make of them no intelligent meaning.  But now, after a long and quiet interval, he began to ask questions, though his eyes were still closed.  “Am I going to die?”

“No,” said Inez, for it was she, “you’ve lost a lot of blood, but the doctor says there’s small danger.”

The bearded face looked up half quizzically.  “Are you glad?”

“Oh ... yes,” said Inez, with a quick-taken respiration.

“Then it’s all right,” the patient murmured sleepily.  His eyes closed.

Inez’ color heightened as she watched him.  What had he meant, she wondered, and decided that his brain was not quite clear.  But, somehow, this was not the explanation she desired.

Presently Dr. Elbert Jones came in, cheering her with his breezy, jovial drawl.

“Getting tired of your task?” he questioned.  But Inez shook her head.  “He protected me,” she said.  “It was while defending me that he was wounded.”  Her eyes searched the physician’s face.  “Where,” she questioned fearfully, “is—­”

“McTurpin?” returned the doctor.  “Lord knows.  He vamoosed, absquatulated.  You’ll hear no more of him, I think, Miss Windham.”

For a moment the dark lashes of the patient rose as if something in the doctor’s words had caught his attention; then they fell again over weary eyes and he appeared to sleep.  But when Doctor Jones was gone, Inez found him regarding her with unusual interest.