There was a step on the path—­another step.  Several people were approaching the adobe.  Without ceremony, the door was thrust open, and Bradley was before them, excitement in his eyes.  He came into the room and dim figures could be seen behind him.  Was that Lopez tied up, with his back to them in the darkness?  His shoulders were bent over, his hat was pulled down over his brow.  His hair was matted, and two Mexicans stood guard on either side of him.  Far away the stars twinkled, unmindful of his plight.

“Got any water?” Bradley asked.

“Lopez!” Pell exclaimed.

“He’s got him!” came from Gilbert.

Lucia grew paler still.  “Lopez!  Captured!” she cried.  “Oh!” And she hid her face in her hands.  What a few brief hours could bring!

Bradley came close to her.  “And a fine day’s work for us, lady,” he said, triumph in his tone.  “We got him at last.”  Then, in the light of the candle, he caught a good view of Pell.  “Say, I thought you was dead!” he cried.

“I was,” laughed the other.  “I mean—­only a scalp wound.”  And he pointed to the mark on his forehead.

The figure at the door, piteous in its helplessness, never moved, never turned.

“Give me that water,” Bradley continued.  “I want to get him in alive if I can.  All the more credit to me and my men, you see.”

Morgan Pell had taken the canteen down from the wall and poured some water in it.  Now he handed it to Bradley.  “There you are,” he said.

“Thanks,” the ranger said.  He went back to the door, and pushed the jug to the lips of his prisoner.  “Take a swig o’ that.”  Lopez did so.  His humiliation was evident even in his back.  And only a little while ago he had been the monarch of all he surveyed!  Now he was the slave of Bradley, and must ride, hand-cuffed, to the jail a few miles away.

“He’s wounded,” said Lucia, going to the door.  “You can’t take him—­like that!” she exclaimed.  She longed for Lopez to turn and look at her; yet she longed, oddly enough, that he would not do so in the next second.  It would be as difficult for her, as for him, if they saw each other.  Her heart went out to him—­this friend of Gilbert’s—­and hers.

Bradley hated this show of feminine weakness.  “Why can’t I take him like that?  Do you think I’m going to nurse an invalid like him around these parts?” He took the canteen from one of his men.  “Here,” he said, handing it back to Pell.

“That’s all right.  Keep it; you may need it later on,” said Pell, as though the jug were his to give away.

“Much obliged,” the ranger thanked him, nothing loath.  “Come on, Bloke.  Good-night.  We got him!”

He gave the bandit a shove, and two other rangers grasped him by either arm.  In a twinkling they were gone, had mounted their horses and were galloping away in the starlight.

So everything was over and done with!  Lucia was heart-broken for Lopez.  She came back into the room, murmuring: