He did so, and Cavendish strapped the stout belt about them, winding it in and out until he had sure purchase.  He drew it so tightly the fellow winced.

“It hurts, senor,” she said, satisfied.  “Well, to hurt you a little is better than what you planned for me.  Now lead on.  No, listen first.  I know who you are and your power here.  That is why we took this chance of making you prisoner.  We are desperate; it is either your life, or ours, senor.  You are an outlaw, with a price on your head, and you realise what chances one will take to escape.  Now there is just one opportunity given you to live.”

“What, senorita?”

“That you accompany us down this passage into the valley as hostage.  You will compel your men, if we encounter any, to furnish us horses.”

“But the men may not obey.  I cannot promise; Senor Cateras——­”

“Senor Cateras will not be there,” she interrupted sharply.  “We have already seen to Senor Cateras.  The others will obey you?”

“They may; I cannot promise.”

“Then it will be your own loss; for if there be a shot fired, you will get either a bullet or a knife thrust.  I would try no sharp tricks, Senor Mendez.  Now we go on.”

Mendez smiled grimly in the dark, his mind busy.  He had seen much of life of a kind and felt no doubt but this young woman would keep her word.  She had become sufficiently desperate to be dangerous, and he felt no desire to drive her to extremes.  Besides he was helpless to resist, but would watch for opportunity, trusting in luck.

“I am to go first?” and his voice assumed polite deference.

“Beside Mr. Cavendish,” she replied, “and I will be behind.”

“This gentleman, you mean?”

“Yes; and there is no need for any more acting.  This is the revolver pressing against your back, senor.  I could scarcely miss you at that distance.”

They advanced in silence, through the faint gleam of light which illumined the passage through the stone slits over the cell doors.  Only then did Mendez venture to pause, and glance back at his captor.

“Pardon, senorita,” he said gallantly, “but I would have view of the first lady who ever took Pasqual Mendez prisoner.  The sight robs me of all displeasure.  In truth it is hardly necessary for you to resort to fire-arms.”

“I prefer them,” shortly.  “Go on!”

The darkness swallowed them again, but the way was clear, and, once around the sharp turn, a glimmer of distant daylight made advance easier.  There was no sign of any guard visible, nor any movement perceptible in the open vista beyond the cave entrance.  The girl touched Mendez’s arm.

“Wait; I would ask a question, or two first, before we venture further.  I was brought in this way, yet my memory is not clear.  There are two log houses before the cave?”

“Yes,” he answered readily, “one somewhat larger than the other—­the men occupy that; the other is for myself and my officers.”