Perhaps at any other time I would have remarked that this request was rather unusual, considering the fact that she was very light and sure of action, extremely proud of it, and likely to be insulted by an offer of assistance.  But my spirit was dead.  I reached for her hands, but they eluded mine, slipped up my arms as she came sliding out of the saddle, and then her face was very close to mine.  “Russ!” she whispered.  It was torment, wistfulness, uncertainty, and yet tenderness all in one little whisper.  It caught me off guard or indifferent to consequences.  So I kissed her, without passion, with all regret and sadness.  She uttered a little cry that might have been mingled exultation and remorse for her victory and her broken faith.  Certainly the instant I kissed her she remembered the latter.  She trembled against me, and leaving unsaid something she had meant to say, she slipped out of my arms and ran.  She assuredly was frightened, and I thought it just as well that she was.

Presently she disappeared in the darkness and then the swift little clinks of her spurs ceased.  I laughed somewhat ruefully and hoped she would be satisfied.  Then I put away the horses and went in for my supper.

After supper I noisily bustled around my room, and soon stole out for my usual evening’s spying.  The night was dark, without starlight, and the stiff wind rustled the leaves and tore through the vines on the old house.  The fact that I had seen and heard so little during my constant vigilance did not make me careless or the task monotonous.  I had so much to think about that sometimes I sat in one place for hours and never knew where the time went.

This night, the very first thing, I heard Wright’s well-known footsteps, and I saw Sampson’s door open, flashing a broad bar of light into the darkness.  Wright crossed the threshold, the door closed, and all was dark again outside.  Not a ray of light escaped from the window.  This was the first visit of Wright for a considerable stretch of time.  Little doubt there was that his talk with Sampson would be interesting to me.

I tiptoed to the door and listened, but I could hear only a murmur of voices.  Besides, that position was too risky.  I went round the corner of the house.  Some time before I had made a discovery that I imagined would be valuable to me.  This side of the big adobe house was of much older construction than the back and larger part.  There was a narrow passage about a foot wide between the old and new walls, and this ran from the outside through to the patio.  I had discovered the entrance by accident, as it was concealed by vines and shrubbery.  I crawled in there, upon an opportune occasion, with the intention of boring a small hole through the adobe bricks.  But it was not necessary to do that, for the wall was cracked; and in one place I could see into Sampson’s room.  This passage now afforded me my opportunity, and I decided to avail myself of it in spite of the very great danger.  Crawling on my hands and knees very stealthily, I got under the shrubbery to the entrance of the passage.  In the blackness a faint streak of light showed the location of the crack in the wall.