“How known?” his white teeth gleamed.  “Do you think what goes on here is published to the world?  If I should tell you the history of this secret valley it would take some of the defiance out of you, I imagine.”

“Then you reckon wrong, I am not afraid of you, and I believe in my friends.  All I ask now is that I be left alone.”

“Which will bring you to your senses.  I have seen that tried out here, and know how it works.  All right, I’ll leave you to think it over; then I’ll come back for an answer.  Until then, senorita, adios.”

The fellow lifted his hat, and stepped back into the passage, his manner insolent.  She remained motionless, contempt in her eyes, but in truth hopeless and crushed.  Silva closed the door silently, although her ears caught the click of the bolt when it was shot home.

No sound of their retreating footsteps reached her through the thick wall.  The stillness of her prison seemed to strike her like a blow.  For a moment she stood staring at the bare wall, her lips parted, her limbs trembling from the reaction of excitement; then she stepped forward, and felt along the smooth surface of rock.

The door fitted so closely she could not even determine its exact outlines.  Baffled, her glance wandered about the cell, seeking vainly for any sign of weakness, and then, giving way utterly to her despair, the girl flung herself on the bench, covering her eyes to shut out those hideous surroundings.  What should she do?  What could she do?  What possibility of hope lay in her own endeavours?  From what source could she expect any outside help?

After those first moments of complete despair, there came greater calmness, in which her mind began to grapple with the situation.  Life had never been an easy problem, and discouragement was no part of her creed.  She sat up once more, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes dry of tears.

In spite of Cateras’s cowardly threats these outlaws would never dare to take her life.  There was no occasion for them to resort to so desperate a deed.  Besides this Mexican was only an under officer of the band, and would never venture to oppose the will of his chief.  Her fate rested not on his word, but upon the decision of Pasqual Mendez, and, if that bandit was associated with Bill Lacy, as undoubtedly he was, then as the prisoner of the American, she was certainly safe until the latter expressed his own wish regarding her.

And why should Lacy desire to take her life?  Most assuredly he did not, or the act would have been already accomplished.  The very fact of her having been transported such a distance was sufficient evidence of his purpose.  The conspirators merely suspected her mission in Haskell; they were afraid she knew more of their plans than she really did.  The telegram, stolen by Miss La Rue, had convinced the leaders that she might prove dangerous if left at large, and they had determined to hold her helpless until their scheme had been worked out and they were safely beyond pursuit.  That was undoubtedly the one object of her capture.  Lacy had no knowledge that Mendez’s band was at the rendezvous; he supposed them to be on a cattle raid to the south, with only a man or two of his own left as guard over Cavendish.