“In Haskell; but please do not ask any more—­there!  They are coming.”

A blow struck the outer door, and was repeated, evidently dealt by the butt of a gun; then the two, standing silent and almost breathless within, heard Mendez’s voice.  There was no mistaking his slow, carefully chosen English.

“Senorita, and you also, Senor Cavendish,” he called his words intended to be conciliatory.  “It is of no use that you resist.  We are many and armed.  If you surrender, and not fight, I pledge you protection.”

The girl glanced at Cavendish.

“You answer him.”

He stepped closer to the door.

“Protection from whom?” he asked briefly.

“From my men; I am Pasqual Mendez.”

“But you propose holding us prisoners?  You intend delivering us up to the man Lacy as soon as he arrives?”

“Yes,” he admitted, “but I hold no animosity—­none.  The senorita need not fear.  I will intercede for you both with the Senor Lacy, and he will listen to what I say.  You may trust me, if you unbar the door.”

“And if we refuse?”

“We shall break in, and there will be no promise.  I ask you now for the last time.”

Cavendish turned his head slightly to regard his companion.

“What shall I say?” he whispered.

“The man lies; he will keep no promise once we are in his power.  Besides they have not yet found Cateras.  When they do there will be no thought of mercy.”

“Then we fight it out?”

“I shall; I will never give myself into the hands of that creature.”

“Senor,” and Cavendish stepped aside to the protection of the logs, “we will not surrender.  That is our answer.”

“Fools!” he called back, his voice rising harsh above the growling of others.  “We will show you.  Silva, Felipe, quick now; do what I told you.  We will teach these Americano dogs a lesson.  No, stand back!  Wait until I speak the word."’

A faint glimmer of light through one of the log crevices caught Cavendish’s attention, and he bent down, his eye to the crack, one hand grasping the barrel of his gun.  Stella watched him motionless and silent, her face again pale from strain.  A moment he stared out, without speaking, the only noise the movement of men beyond the log walls, and the occasional sound of a voice in Spanish.

“I can count about a dozen out there,” he said finally, his words barely audible, and his eye still at the slight opening.  “All Mexican except two—­they look American.  Most of them are armed.  You must have pricked Mendez, for he has one arm in a sling, and the cloth shows bloody.  Ah!  Wait!  The fellows have searched the cells and discovered Cateras.  Do you hear that yell?  It will be a fight to a finish now.  Here come two men with a log—­that’s their game then; they mean to smash in the door.”

He straightened up, casting a swift glance about the apartment.  All hesitancy, doubt, had left him, now that the supreme test had come.  He was again capable of thinking clearly, and acting.