“’Sh-h!  Listen!”

The heavy door of the hacienda creaked, a quick tread sounded on the tiles, the door to the living-room was flung open, and Longorio entered.  He was hot and dusty from his ride, but with a lover’s impetuosity he had made straight for this lighted room.

For the briefest instant he balanced himself just inside the portal, and the smile remained fixed upon his lips.  Then his eyes became ringed with white and he made a swift, catlike movement of retreat.  Plainly this was the supremest surprise of his lifetime, and he seemed to doubt his senses.  But he recovered quickly.  Thrusting his head forward, he demanded: 

“What is this?  You—­and you?” He stared from Dave to the priest, then back again.

They all spoke at once, but he heard only Alaire’s words: 

“He came to find me.”

Pancho appeared in the doorway behind Longorio, saying, “I heard you ride up, sir, so I ran to tell you about this fellow.”

But the general cut him short.  “Call your men, quick,” he cried in a voice that sent the soldier leaping back into the night.

Alaire was clinging to Dave, merely clutching him the tighter when he tried to unclasp her hold.  Her movement into the shelter of his rival’s arms infuriated Longorio, who uttered an exclamation and fumbled uncertainly with his holster.  But his fingers were clumsy.  He could not take his eyes from the pair, and he seemed upon the point of rushing forward to tear them apart.

“Don’t touch her!  Don’t—­” he began, cursing in a high-pitched voice.  “God!  What a reckoning!” Then he stamped his feet, he wrung his hands, he called shrilly at the top of his voice:  “Lieutenant!  Ho, Pancho!  You fellows!  Quickly!” Under the stress of his excitement the feminine side of his character betrayed itself.

Alaire felt her newly made husband gather himself for a spring; he was muttering to her to release him; he was trying to push her aside, but she held fast with the strength of desperation.

“You can’t harm us,” she declared, flinging her words defiantly at the Mexican.  “You dare not.  You are too late.  Father O’Malley has just married us.”

Longorio uttered a peculiar, wordless cry of dismay; his mouth fell open; his arms dropped; he went limp all over, paralyzed momentarily by surprise and horror; his eyes protruded; he swayed as if his sight had blurred.

“I said I’d never marry you,” she rushed on, vibrantly.  “This is the man I love—­the only man.  Yes, and I’ve learned the truth about you.  I know who killed Mr. Austin.”

Longorio did a very unexpected thing then; slowly, unconsciously, as if the movement were the result of a half-forgotten training, he crossed himself.

But now from the hall at his back came the pounding of boot-heels, and a half dozen panting troopers tumbled through the door.  He waved them back and out into the hall again.