“Besides Cateras?”

“No, not at present; at times I have guests.  It would be pleasurable to entertain you, and your friend.”

“No doubt.  You expect Lacy?”

“You know that also?  How did you learn?”

“I heard you talk to the men at the other end.  It is true, is it not?”

“I have sent for him; it was yesterday.”

“And he could be here now?”

“Not before night; it is a hard ride; why ask all this?”

“I have reasons.  Now another thing; where are your men?”

His eyes wandered to the gleam of daylight.

“There will be one or two in the bunk-house likely; the others are with the cattle up the valley.”

“But none in your cabin?”

He shook his head.

“And you say Lacy cannot get here before dark?  How late?”

He hesitated over his reply, endeavouring shrewdly to conjecture what could be the object of all this questioning, yet finally concluding that the truth would make very little difference.

“Well, senorita, I may as well tell you, I suppose.  It is the rule not to enter this valley until after dark.  I expect the Americanos to arrive about ten o’clock.”

“The Americanos?”

“Si, there will be three in the party, one of them a man from New York, who has business with me.”

Miss Donovan’s decision was rapidly made, her mind instantly grasping the situation.  This man would be Enright, and the business he had with Mendez concerned Cavendish, and possibly herself also.  She glanced again into the stern, hawklike face of the Mexican, recognising its lines of relentless cruelty, the complete absence of any sense of mercy.  His piercing eyes and thin lips gave evidence enough that he was open to any bargain if the reward should be commensurate with the risk.  The man’s age, and grey hair, only served to render more noticeable his real character—­he was a human tiger, held now in restraint, but only waiting a chance to break his chains, and sink teeth in any victim.  The very sight of him sent a shudder through her body, even as it stiffened her purpose.

Her clear, thoughtful eyes turned inquiringly toward Cavendish, but the survey brought with it no encouragement.  The man meant well, no doubt, and would fight valiantly on occasion; he was no coward, no weakling—­equally clear his was not the stuff from which leaders are made.  There was uncertainty in his eyes, a lack of force in his face which told the story.  Whatever was decided upon, or accomplished, must be by her volition; she could trust him to obey, but that was all.  Her body straightened into new resolve, all her womanhood called to the front by this emergency.

“Then we will make no attempt to leave the valley until after dark,” she said slowly.  “Even if we got away now, we would be pursued, and overtaken, for the desert offers few chances for concealment.  If we can reach that smaller cabin unseen we ought to be safe enough there for hours.  Cateras will not bother, and with Mendez captive, his men will not learn what has occurred.  Is not this our best plan, Mr. Cavendish?”