The homeward journey was a repetition of the journey out; there were the same idle crowds, the same displays of filthy viands at the stopping-places, the same heat and dust and delays.  Longorio’s lieutenant hovered near, and Jose, as before, was news-gatherer.  Hour after hour they crept toward the border, until at last they were again laid out on a siding for an indefinite wait.

The occasion for this was made plain when an engine drawing a single caboose appeared.  Even before it had come to a pause a tall figure in spotless uniform leaped to the ground and strode to the waiting coaches.  It was Luis Longorio.  He waved a signal to the conductor, then swung aboard the north-bound train.

The general was all smiles as he came down the and bowed low over Alaire’s hand.

Dolores gasped and stiffened in her seat like a woman of stone.

“God be praised!  You are safe and well!” said the new-comer.  “I have blamed myself for allowing you to take this abominable journey!  I have been in torment lest something befall you.  Every night I have prayed that you might be spared all harm.  When I received word that you were coming I made all speed to meet you.”

“Dolores and I are greatly in your debt,” Alaire told him.

“But you stayed so long!”

“There was more work than I thought.  General, you have ruined me.”

Longorio was pained; his face became ineffably sad.  “Please!  I beg of you,” he entreated.  “I have arranged for reparation of that miserable mistake.  You shall see what I have done.  With your own eyes you shall read the furious correspondence I have carried on with the minister.  Together you and I shall manage a settlement, and you will find that I am a friend indeed!”

“I hope so.”

“Have I not proved it?  Am I not ready to give you my life?” the general queried, earnestly.  “Fix the damages at your own figure and I shall see that you receive justice.  If the government will not pay, I will.  I have means; I am not a poor man.  All I possess would be too little to buy your happiness.”

“You embarrass me.  I’m afraid you don’t realize what you say.”  Alaire remained cool under the man’s protestations.  “I have lost more than a thousand head of cattle.”

“We shall say two, three thousand, and the government will pay,” Longorio asserted, brazenly.  “I will vouch for your figures, and no one will question them, for I am a man of honor.”

“No!  All I want—­”

“It is done.  Let us say no more about the affair.  Senora, I have thought of you every hour; the duties that held me in Nuevo Pueblo were like irksome chains.  I was in madness.  I would have flown to La Feria but—­I could not.”

“My husband will thank you for your great courtesy to me,” Alaire managed to say.

But the mention of husbands was not agreeable to one of Longorio’s sensitiveness, and his face betrayed a hint of impatience.