THE DAWN

Juan Garcia proved to be a good guide, and he saved the refugees many miles on their road to the Rio Grande.  But every farm and every village was a menace, and at first they were forced to make numerous detours.  As the night grew older, however, they rode a straighter course, urging their horses to the limit, hoping against hope to reach the border before daylight overtook them.  This they might have done had it not been for Father O’Malley and Dolores, who were unused to the saddle and unable to maintain the pace Juan set for them.

About midnight the party stopped on the crest of a flinty ridge to give their horses breath and to estimate their progress.  The night was fine and clear; outlined against the sky were the stalks of countless sotol-plants standing slim and bare, like the upright lances of an army at rest; ahead the road meandered across a mesa, covered with grama grass and black, formless blots of shrubbery.

Father O’Malley groaned and shifted his weight.  “Juan tells me we’ll never reach Romero by morning, at this rate,” he said; and Dave was forced to agree.  “I think you and he and Alaire had better go on and leave Dolores and me to follow as best we can.”

Dolores plaintively seconded this suggestion.  “I would rather be burned at the stake than suffer these agonies,” she confessed.  “My bones are broken.  The devil is in this horse.  “She began to weep softly.  “Go, senora.  Save yourself!  It is my accursed fat stomach that hinders me.  Tell Benito that I perished breathing his name, and see to it, when he remarries, that he retains none of my treasures.”

Alaire reassured her by saying:  “We won’t leave you.  Be brave and make the best of it.”

“Yes, grit your teeth and hold on,” Dave echoed.  “We’ll manage to make it somehow.”

But progress was far slower than it should have been, and the elder woman continued to lag behind, voicing her distress in groans and lamentations.  The priest, who was made of sterner stuff, did his best to bear his tortures cheerfully.

In spite of their efforts the first rosy heralds of dawn discovered them still a long way from the river and just entering a more thickly settled country.  Daylight came swiftly, and Juan finally gave them warning.

“We can’t go on; the danger is too great,” he told them.  “If the soldiers are still in Romero, what then?”

“Have you no friends hereabouts who would take us in?” Dave inquired.

The Mexican shook his head.

Dave considered for a moment.  “You must hide here,” he told his companions, “while I ride on to Romero and see what can be done.  I suspect Blanco’s troops have left, and in that case everything will be all right.”

“Suppose they haven’t?” Alaire inquired.  All night she had been in the lightest of moods, and had steadily refused to take their perils seriously.  Now her smile chased the frown from her husband’s face.