Alaire had stubbornly refused to charge her husband with any active share in this evil business, but her faith in Ed suddenly vanished when she heard him say: 

“Hush!  You’re making too much noise.  You’d better scatter out, too, for there’s no telling where they’ll land.”  Alaire leaned weakly against the door.  “I’m going to leave, and let you-all attend to the rest,” he was saying.  But Tad Lewis halted him as he turned from the group.

“Where are you going, Ed?  You left your car back yonder by the road.  I almost ran into it.”

“Eh?  What are you talking about?  My car is over by Morales’s house.”

“Senor Austin is in a great hurry,” sneered some one in Spanish.  “Once more he leaves all of the fighting to his friends.”

“That’s Adolfo Urbina,” panted Paloma.  “I know him.”  Stung by this open charge of cowardice, Austin began a voluble defense, but in the midst of it General Longorio addressed him, sharply: 

“You will stay here, senor.  Nobody leaves this place.”

“I told you I wouldn’t be a party to the business,” Ed declared, hotly.  “You forced me to come in the first place—­”

“Yes!  And now I force you to stay.”

Longorio’s stand appeared to please Lewis, who chimed in with the words:  “That’s right, Ed. You’ve got to stick, for once in your life.”

“What do you mean, you nearly ran into my car back yonder?” Austin asked, after a moment.

“Ain’t that your machine yonder by the thicket?” inquired Lewis.  “If it ain’t, whose is it?” As no one answered, he started in the direction he had indicated; but at that moment a man came running from the riverbank, crying, softly: 

“Look out!  They come.”

“I’m going to shoot,” Paloma Jones gasped, but Alaire, who once again heard the sound of whispering in the shadows just outside their hiding-place, managed to restrain her companion.  It was well that she succeeded, for even as Paloma raised her weapon a man passed swiftly by the crack of the half-open door and scarcely ten feet beyond the muzzle of the rifle.  He was followed by three others.

The first of the new-comers, acting as spokesman for his party, stepped out into the moonlight and cried, loudly:  “Hello, men!  What’s goin’ on here?” It was an American voice; it had a broad, slow, Texas drawl.

The group of plotters turned, there was a startled murmur, then Tad Lewis answered: 

“Hello!  Who are you?  What do you want?”

“I reckon we must have got off the road,” announced the stranger.  Then he peered out across the river:  “Say!  Ain’t that a skiff coming yonder?” he inquired.

“Well, it don’t look like a steamboat.”  Lewis laughed, disagreeably.  “We’re havin’ a little party of our own.  I reckon you fellows had better beat it.  Understand?”

The outposts that had been sent to cover the bank in both directions were now coming in.  Through the stillness of the night there sounded the thump of oar-locks.  Seeing that the stranger did not seem to take his hint, Lewis raised his voice menacingly: