Romero, at this time the southern outpost of Federal territory, standing guard against the Rebel forces in Tamaulipas, is a sun-baked little town sprawling about a naked plaza, and, except for the presence of Colonel Blanco’s detachment of troops, it would have presented much the same appearance as any one of the lazy border villages.  A scow ferry had at one time linked it on the American side with a group of ’dobe houses which were sanctified by the pious name of Sangre de Cristo, but of late years more advantageous crossings above and below had come into some use and Romero’s ferry had been abandoned.  Perhaps a mile above Sangre de Cristo, and directly opposite Romero’s weed-grown cemetery, stood the pumping-plant of Las Palmas, its corrugated iron roof and high-flung chimney forming a conspicuous landmark.

Luis Longorio had just awakened from his siesta when Jose gained admittance to his presence.  The general lay at ease in the best bed of the best house in the village; he greeted the new-comer with a smile.

“So, my brave Jose, you wish to become a soldier and fight for your country, eh?”

“Yes, my general.”

Longorio yawned and stretched lazily.  “Body of Christ!  This is a hard life.  Here am I in this goatherd’s hovel, hot, dirty, and half starved, and all because of a fellow I never saw who got himself killed.  You would think this Ricardo was an Englishman instead of a Gringo, for the fuss that is made.  Who was he?  Some great jefe?

“A miserable fellow.  I knew him well.  Then he is indeed dead?”

“Quite dead, I believe,” Longorio said, carelessly; then turning his large, bright eyes upon the visitor, he continued, with more interest, “Now tell me about the beautiful senora, your mistress.”

Jose scowled.  “She’s not my mistress.  I am no longer of her gente.  I have a debt of blood to wipe out.”

Longorio sat up in his bed; the smile left his face.  “My Jose”, he said, quietly, “if you harm her in the least I shall bury you to the neck in an ant’s nest and fill your mouth with honey.  Now, what is this you are telling me?”

Jose, uncomfortably startled by this barbarous threat, told as connectedly as he knew how all about his cousin’s death and his reasons for leaving Las Palmas.

“Ah-h!” Longorio relaxed.  “You gave me a start.  At first I thought you came with a message from her—­but that was too much to expect; then I feared you meant the lady some evil.  Now I shall tell you a little secret:  I love your senora!  Yes, I love her madly, furiously; I can think of nothing but her.  I came to this abominable village more to see her than to annoy myself over the death of Ricardo Guzman.  I must see my divinity; I must hear her blessed voice, or I shall go mad.  Why do I tell you this?  Because I have decided that you shall lead me to her to-night.”  The general fell silent for a moment, then, “I intend to have her some day, Jose, and—­perhaps you will be my right hand.  See, I make you my confidant because you will not dare to anger me or—­Well, my little friend, you must understand what fate would befall you in that case.  I can reach across the Rio Grande.”