“You ask no pledge, then, of me?”

“Only your consent to accompany me, and the kiss.  Beyond that I take the gambler’s chance.  Only you must say yes or no; for it will require time for me to clear the road.”

“It must be to-night?”

“The sooner the better; they tell me Lacy will be here himself soon, and after he comes the one chance is over with.  You will give the kiss?”

“Do not ask it, senor!”

“Oh, but I will—­aye, more, I’ll take it.  A dozen will do no harm, and no scream from those lips will be heard.  You may as well be nice, my beauty.”

She was against the wall, helpless, and the grip of his hands was like steel.  She made no sound, although struggling to break free.  His breath was on her cheek; his eyes burning with lust gazing straight into her own.

Slowly, remorselessly, he bent her head backward until she feared her neck would snap.  A sob started in her throat, but she silenced it with the will of a superwoman.  Into her terror-stricken mind leaped the sudden conclusion that resistance with this beast was futile; she must outwit him with her brains.  Suddenly relaxing herself, she slipped to the granite floor on her knees.

“Please, please,” she begged.  “I give in, senor, I give in.”

But as she spoke her right hand closed about a square jagged bit of rock.

“So, my pretty,” sneered Cateras, “you have learned that Juan Cateras is not a man to trifle with.  It is well.”  And, releasing his grip upon her, he allowed the girl to rise.

As she stood there in the half light, her grey eyes flashing, her young bosom rising and falling, she was a vaguely defined but alluring figure.  So Juan Cateras thought, and he took a step nearer, his thick, red lips curling with lust, eager to claim their rich reward.  As they came closer Stella Donovan stiffened.

“Look, senor,” she whispered—­“behind you!”

The Mexican in his eagerness was off his guard.  He turned to look, and at that instant the girl drew back her sturdy arm and then brought it forward again with all her vigour. Cluk!  She heard the rock sound against her oppressor’s head, heard a low moan escape his lips, and saw him sink slowly to the floor at her feet.

The next instant she was beside him, in terror lest she had killed him; but a hurried glance, supplemented by her fingers which reached for his pulse, assured her that she had only stunned her assailant.  Her heart beat less rapidly now, and she again had control of her mental processes.  With deft hands that worked speedily in the darkness she unstrapped from around his waist the belt with its thirty-six cartridges and revolver, then pulled from his pocket the keys, not only to her cell, but, she judged, to others.

The feel of their bronze coldness in her hot hands brought a quick message to her brain; beyond a question of doubt, the missing Cavendish was concealed in one of the dark, dank cells in the immediate vicinage, if not actually in this same passage, then in another one perhaps not greatly distant.  The speculation gave her determination and decision.