“Dick, think, think!  With Mercedes also it was love at first sight.  My plan is to marry her and get her farther to the interior, away from the border.  It may not be easy.  She’s watched.  So am I. It was impossible to see her without the women of this house knowing.  At first, perhaps, they had only curiosity—­an itch to gossip.  But the last two days there has been a change.  Since last night there’s some powerful influence at work.  Oh, these Mexicans are subtle, mysterious!  After all, they are Spaniards.  They work in secret, in the dark.  They are dominated first by religion, then by gold, then by passion for a woman.  Rojas must have got word to his friends here; yesterday his gang of cutthroat rebels arrived, and to-day he came.  When I learned that, I took my chance and left camp.  I hunted up a priest.  He promised to come here.  It’s time he’s due.  But I’m afraid he’ll be stopped.”

“Thorne, why don’t you take the girl and get married without waiting, without running these risks?” said Dick.

“I fear it’s too late now.  I should have done that last night.  You see, we’re over the line—­”

“Are we in Mexican territory now?” queried Gale, sharply.

“I guess yes, old boy.  That’s what complicates it.  Rojas and his rebels have Casita in their hands.  But Rojas without his rebels would be able to stop me, get the girl, and make for his mountain haunts.  If Mercedes is really watched—­if her identity is known, which I am sure is the case—­we couldn’t get far from this house before I’d be knifed and she seized.”

“Good Heavens!  Thorne, can that sort of thing happen less than a stone’s throw from the United States line?” asked Gale, incredulously.

“It can happen, and don’t you forget it.  You don’t seem to realize the power these guerrilla leaders, these rebel captains, and particularly these bandits, exercise over the mass of Mexicans.  A bandit is a man of honor in Mexico.  He is feared, envied, loved.  In the hearts of the people he stands next to the national idol—­the bull-fighter, the matador.  The race has a wild, barbarian, bloody strain.  Take Quinteros, for instance.  He was a peon, a slave.  He became a famous bandit.  At the outbreak of the revolution he proclaimed himself a leader, and with a band of followers he devastated whole counties.  The opposition to federal forces was only a blind to rob and riot and carry off women.  The motto of this man and his followers was:  ‘Let us enjoy ourselves while we may!’

“There are other bandits besides Quinteros, not so famous or such great leaders, but just as bloodthirsty.  I’ve seen Rojas.  He’s a handsome, bold sneering devil, vainer than any peacock.  He decks himself in gold lace and sliver trappings, in all the finery he can steal.  He was one of the rebels who helped sack Sinaloa and carry off half a million in money and valuables.  Rojas spends gold like he spills blood.  But he is chiefly famous for abducting women.  The peon girls consider it an honor to be ridden off with.  Rojas has shown a penchant for girls of the better class.”