“Yes.”  She bit her lip.  “I’ll explain everything, but—­you must help me send him back, right away.”  Glancing at the clock, Alaire saw that it was drawing on toward midnight; with quick decision she seized her husband by the arm, explaining feverishly:  “There is something big going on to-night, Ed!  Longorio brought a guard of soldiers with him and left them at our pump-house.  Well, it so happens that Blaze Jones and Mr. Law have gone to the Romero cemetery to get Ricardo Guzman’s body.”

“What?” Austin’s red face paled, his eyes bulged.

“Yes.  That’s why Paloma is here.  They crossed at our pumping-station, and they’ll be back at any time, now.  If they encounter Longorio’s men—­You understand?”

“God Almighty!” Austin burst forth.  “Ricardo Guzman’s body!” He wet his lips and swallowed with difficulty.  “Why—­do they want the body?”

“To prove that he is really dead and—­to prove who killed him.”  Noting the effect of these words, Alaire cried, sharply, “What’s the matter, Ed?”

But Austin momentarily was beyond speech.  The decanter from which he was trying to pour himself a drink played a musical tattoo upon his glass; his face had become ashen and pasty.

“Have they got the body?  Do they know who shot him?” he asked, dully.

“No, no!” Alaire was trembling with impatience.  “Don’t you understand?  They are over there now, and they’ll be back about midnight.  If Longorio had come alone, or if he had left his men at Sangre de Cristo, everything would be all right.  But those soldiers at Morales’s house will be up and awake.  Why, it couldn’t have happened worse!” “How many men has he got?” Austin nodded in the direction of the front room.

“I don’t know.  Probably four or five.  What ails you?”

“That—­won’t do.  They won’t—­fight on this side of the river.  They—­they’d hold them off.”

“Who?  What are you talking about?”

Something in her husband’s inexplicable agitation, something in the hunted, desperate way in which his eyes were running over the room, alarmed Alaire.

Ed utterly disregarded her question.  Catching sight of the telephone, which stood upon a stand in the far corner of the room, he ran to it and, snatching the receiver, violently oscillated the hook.

“Don’t do that!” Alaire cried, following him.  “Wait!  It mustn’t get out.”

“Hello!  Give me the Lewis ranch—­quick—­I’ve forgotten the number.”  With his free hand Ed held his wife at a distance, muttering harshly:  “Get away now!  I know what I’m doing.  Get away--damn you!” He flung Alaire from him as she tried to snatch the instrument out of his hands.

“What do you want of Lewis?” she panted.

“None of your business.  You keep away or I’ll hurt you.”

“Ed!” she cried, “Are you out of your mind?  You mustn’t—­”

Their voices were raised now, heedless of the two people In the adjoining room.