Her heart beat faster as she turned away, satisfied with the success of her plan.  Nothing remained now but to secure Mendez, to make it impossible for him to raise an alarm.  If he could be bound, and locked into that rear room.  She looked at the two men—­the Mexican had slouched down into a chair, apparently having abandoned all hope of escape, his chin lowered on his breast, his eyes hidden beneath the wide brim of his hat.  He was a perfect picture of depression, but Cavendish appeared alert enough, the deadly knife still gripped in his hand, a motionless, threatening figure.  Feeling no trepidation, she crossed toward the other room, noting as she passed that Mendez lifted his head to observe her movements.  She paused at the door, turning suspiciously, but the man had already seemingly lost interest, and his head again drooped.  She stepped within.

CHAPTER XXVIII:  WITH BACK TO THE WALL

It was dingy dark once she had crossed the threshold, yet enough of light flickered in through the doorway to enable her to perceive the few articles of furniture.  The room itself was a small one, but contained a roughly constructed wooden bed, two stools, and a square table of unplaned boards.  A strip of rag carpet covered a portion of the floor, and there was a sort of cupboard in one corner, the door of which stood open, revealing a variety of parcels, littering the shelves.  Against the wall in a corner leaned a short-barrelled gun, a canvas bag draped over its muzzle.

She had no opportunity to observe more.  To her ears there came the sound of a blow in the room she had just left, a groan, the dull thud of a body striking the floor, accompanied by a Spanish oath, and a shuffling of feet.  She sprang back into the open doorway, startled, certain only of some catastrophe, her fingers gripping hard on the revolver.

Cavendish lay writhing on the floor, the chair overturned beside him, and the Mexican, with one swift leap forward, cleared the body, and reached the window.  Even as she caught this movement, too dazed for the instant to act, the injured man struggled up on one elbow, and, with all the force he possessed, hurled the knife straight at the fleeing figure.  It flashed through the air, a savage gleam of steel, barely missing Mendez’s shoulder, and buried itself in a log, quivering from the force of impact.  With a yell of derision, his hands still bound, the desperate fugitive cast himself head-first through the opening.  Without aim, scarcely aware of what she did, the girl flung up her weapon and fired.  With revolver yet smoking she rushed forward to look without.  Rolling over and over on the ground, his face covered with blood, Mendez was seeking to round the corner of the cabin, to get beyond range.  Again she pulled the trigger, the powder smoke blowing back into her face, and blinding her.  When she could see once more, he was gone, but men were leaping out through the door of the bunk-house, shouting in excitement.