Longorio’s bright eyes took a swift inventory of his surroundings; then he sighed luxuriously.

“How fine!” said he.  “How beautiful!  A nest for a bird of paradise!”

“Don’t you consider this rather a mad adventure?” Alaire insisted.  “Suppose it should become known that you crossed the river?”

Longorio snapped his fingers.  “I answer to no one; I am supreme.  But your interest warms my heart; it thrills me to think you care for my safety.  Thus am I repaid for my days of misery.”

“You surely did not”—­Paloma swallowed hard—­“come alone?”

“No.  I have a duty to my country.  I said, ’Luis, you are a brave man, and fear is a stranger to you, but, nevertheless, you must have regard for the Fatherland’; so I took measures to protect myself in case of eventualities.”

“How?”

“By bringing with me some of my troopers.  Oh, they are peaceable fellows!” he declared, quickly; “and they are doubtless enjoying themselves with our friend and sympathizer, Morales.”

“Where?” asked Alaire.

“I left them at your pumping-plant, senora.”  Paloma Jones sat down heavily in the nearest chair.  “But you need have no uneasiness.  They are quiet and orderly; they will molest nothing; no one would believe them to be soldiers.  I take liberties with the laws and the customs of your country, dear lady, but—­you would not care for a man who allowed such considerations to stand in his way, eh?”

Alaire answered, sharply:  “It was a very reckless thing to do, and—­you must not remain here.”

“Yes, yes!” Paloma eagerly agreed.  “You must go back at once.”

But Longorio heard no voice except Alaire’s.  In fact, since entering the living-room he had scarcely taken his eyes from her.  Now he drew his evenly arched brows together in a plaintive frown, saying, “You are inhospitable!” Then his expression lightened.  “Or is it,” he asked—­“is it that you are indeed apprehensive for me?”

Alaire tried to speak quietly.  “I should never forgive myself if you came to harm here at my ranch.”

Longorio sighed.  “And I hoped for a warmer welcome—­especially since I have done you another favor.  You saw that hombre who came with me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you would never guess that it is your Jose Sanchez, whom I prevailed upon to return to your employ.  But it is no other; and he comes to beg your forgiveness for leaving.  He was distracted at the news of his cousin’s murder, and came to me—­”

“His cousin was not murdered.”

“Exactly!  I told him so when I had learned the facts.  A poor fellow this Panfilo—­evidently a very bad man, indeed—­but Jose admired him and was harboring thoughts of revenge.  I said to him:  ’Jose, my boy, it is better to do nothing than to act wrongly.  Since it was God’s will that your cousin came to a bad end, why follow in his footsteps?  You will not make a good soldier.  Go back to your beautiful employer, be loyal to her, and think no more about this unhappy affair.’  It required some argument, I assure you, but—­he is here.  He comes to ask your forgiveness and to resume his position of trust.”