“Ay, senor, I knew you would.  For that I told you all.  I know not where the cave is; but the vaquero—­he is in town till to-morrow.  But he fears Dona Erigida, senor, as he fears the devil.  You must tell him that not only will you give him plenty of whiskey and cigars, but that you will send him to Mexico.  Dona Brigida would kill him.”

“I’ll look out for him.”

“Do not falter, senor, for the love of God; for no Californian will go to her rescue.  She has been disgraced and none will marry her.  But you can take her far away where no one knows—­”

“Where is this vaquero to be found?”

“In a little house on the beach, under the fort, where his sweetheart lives.”

“Good night!” And he sprang from the corridor and ran toward the nearest gate.

He found the vaquero, and after an hour’s argument got his way.  The man, who had wormed the secret out of Tomaso, had only a general idea of the situation of the cave; but he confessed to a certain familiarity with the mountains.  He was not persuaded to go until Sturges had promised to send not only himself but his sweetheart to Mexico.  Dona Brigida was violently opposed to matrimony, and would have none of it on her rancho.  Sturges promised to ship them both off on the Joven Guipuzcoanoa, and to keep them comfortably for a year in Mexico.  It was not an offer to be refused.

They started at dawn.  Sturges, following Benito’s advice, bought a long gray cloak with a hood, and filled his saddle-bags with nourishing food.  The vaquero sent word to Dona Brigida that the horses he had brought in to sell to the officers had escaped and that he was hastening down the coast in pursuit.  In spite of his knowledge of the mountains, it was only after two days of weary search in almost trackless forests, and more than one encounter with wild beasts, that they came upon the cave.  They would have passed it then but for the sharp eyes of Sturges, who detected the glint of stone behind the branches which Dona Brigida had piled against it.

He sprang down, tossed the brush aside, and inserted his fingers between the side of the stone and the wall of the cave.  But he could not move it alone, and was about to call Benito, who was watering the mustangs at a spring, when he happened to glance upward.  A small white hand was hanging over the top of the stone.  Sturges was not a Californian, but he sprang to his feet and pressed his lips to that hand.  It was cold and nerveless, and clasping it in his he applied his gaze to the rift above the stone.  In a moment he distinguished two dark eyes and a gleam of white brow above.  Then a faint voice said:—­

“Take me out!  Take me out, senor, for the love of God!”

“I have come for that.  Cheer up,” said Sturges, in his best Spanish.  “You’ll be out in five minutes.”

“And then you’ll bring me his head,” whispered Pilar.  “Ay, Dios, what I have suffered!  I have been years here, senor, and I am nearly mad.”