In offering to lend a hand in this difficulty, Alaire had acted largely upon impulse, and now that she took time to think over the affair more coolly, she asked herself what possible business of hers it could be.  How did this effort to secure Don Ricardo’s body concern her?  And how could she hope or expect to be of help to the men engaged in the hazardous attempt?  With Paloma, of course, it was different:  the girl was anxious on her father’s account, and probably concerned more deeply than was Alaire for the safety of Dave Law.  Probably she and Dave had an understanding—­it would be natural.  Well, Paloma was a nice girl and she would make a splendid wife for any man.

For her part, Paloma was troubled by no uncertainty of purpose; it did not seem to her at all absurd to go to her father’s assistance, and she was so eager to be up and away that the prospect of a long evening’s wait made her restless.

As usual, Ed Austin had not taken the trouble to inform his wife of his whereabouts; Alaire was relieved to find that he was out, and she decided that he had probably stayed at Tad Lewis’s for supper.

The women were seated on the porch after their meals when up the driveway rode two horsemen.  A moment later a tall figure mounted the steps and came forward with outstretched hand, crying, in Spanish: 

“Senora!  I surprise you.  Well, I told you some day I should give myself this great pleasure.  I am here!”

“General Longorio!  But—­what a surprise!” Alaire’s amazement was naive; her face was that of a startled school-girl.  The Mexican warmly kissed her fingers, then turned to meet Paloma Jones.  As he bowed the women exchanged glances over his head.  Miss Jones looked frankly frightened, and her expression plainly asked the meaning of Longorio’s presence.  To herself, she was wondering if it could have anything to do with that expedition to the Romero cemetery.  She tried to compose herself, but apprehension flooded her.

Alaire, meanwhile, her composure recovered, was standing slim and motionless beside her chair, inquiring smoothly:  “What brings you into Texas at such a time, my dear general?  This is quite extraordinary.”

“Need you ask me?” cried the man.  “I would ride through a thousand perils, senora.  God in his graciousness placed that miserable village Romero close to the gates of Heaven.  Why should I not presume to look through them briefly?  I came two days ago, and every hour since then I have turned my eyes in the direction of Las Palmas.  At last I could wait no longer.”  A courtly bow at the conclusion of these words robbed the speech of its audacity and tinged it with the licensed extravagance of Latin flattery.  Nevertheless, Paloma gasped and Alaire stirred uncomfortably.  The semi-darkness of the veranda was an invitation to even more daring compliments, and, therefore, as she murmured a polite word of welcome, Alaire stepped through the French window at her back and into the brightly lighted living-room.  Paloma Jones followed as if in a trance.