“Ze girl zat spoiled my dinner,” the bandit laughed.

“Oh!” cried Angela, who thought she had done so well.

“And she love you?” Lopez went on.

“I don’t either!” Angela protested, speaking before “Red” had a chance.

“Now, Angela!” said “Red,” his face the color of his flaming hair.

His dream seemed so close.  Was it possible that the only girl he ever had adored was going to see it wrecked?

Angela weakened a bit at his tone.  “I like him,” she told the bandit.  “But I don’t—­love him.”

“Ah! but you do!” Lopez insisted.

“I do?” said Angela, wide-eyed.

“I have so decide!” the bandit stated.

“What?” cried Angela, not knowing what he could be driving at.

“Also you make love to my frand, Senor Jones.”

“Oh!” cried the frightened girl now.

“And you have annoyed him in other ways.”

“I have?” she wailed, terrified to the breaking point.

“Red” intervened.  “Listen, Angela—­” he began.

She stamped her little foot, and was peppery at once.  “I won’t!”

“You don’t love him,” “Red” affirmed, for her.

“Oh!” Angela burst out, all confusion.

“No more than you loved any of the rest of ’em,” “Red” went on.

“Keep still!” the girl cried.  “Keep still!  I think you’re dreadful!”

“It’s because they’re better looking than me,” her slave went right on.  “I’m the one for you to marry, Angy, and you know it!” He had faith in himself at last—­she couldn’t stop him now.

“No!” Angela contradicted.

“Aw, come on!” poor “Red” begged.

But she stamped her foot again.  “No—­no—­no!”

“Say you will!” “Red” pleaded, almost distracted.

But Angela was adamant.  “I won’t—­I won’t listen to you another minute!” She turned her back on him, blushing to the roots of her hair.

Lopez had been highly amused at the girl’s pique and “Red’s” honest interest in her.  He came to his assistance.  “We shall be patient.  She is mad.  And mad lady sink not wiz ze ’ead, but only wiz ze tongue.”  He faced the pouting Angela.  “Senorita, leesten to me.  ’Ow old are you?”

“None of your business!” was the instant answer.

“Twenty-eight?  Twenty-nine?” Lopez pressed, smiling.

“Certainly not!  I’m only twenty!” She was swift with the denial.

“Ah!  I sought so,” said Lopez, much pleased.

“What?” Angela said, not understanding him.

“In Mexico you would now be married five years—­” the bandit explained.

“What?” screamed Angela.

“An’ have six children.”

“Oh!” The very thought made Angela ill.

“You are not pretty—­none too pretty!” Lopez said.

The girl was now both hurt and amazed.  “What’s that?” she cried, all her feminine anger aroused.

“You will soon grow fat,” Lopez continued, looking her over carefully.