below."

"Yes; it is not far; see, the passage leads upward. Come, we might as
well learn what is ahead."

They advanced slowly, keeping closely against the wall, and testing the
floor cautiously before venturing a step. A few yards plunged them
into total darkness, and, although Cavendish had been conducted along
there a prisoner, he retained small recollection of the nature of the
passage.

Their progress was slow but silent, neither venturing to exchange
speech, but with ears anxiously strained to catch the least sound.
Stella was conscious of the loud beating of her heart, the slight
rasping of Cavendish's feet on the rock floor. The slightest noise
seemed magnified. The grade rose sharply, until it became almost a
climb, yet the floor had evidently been levelled, and there were no
obstructions to add to the difficulty of advance. Then the passage
swerved rather sharply to the right, and Cavendish, leading, halted to
peer about the corner. An instant they both remained motionless, and
then, seeing and hearing nothing, she could restrain her impatience no
longer.

"What is it?" she questioned. "Is there something wrong?"

He reached back and drew her closer, without answering, until her eyes
also were able to look around the sharp edge of rock. Far away, it
seemed a long distance up that narrow tunnel, a lantern glowed dully,
the light so dim and flickering as to scarcely reveal even its
immediate surroundings; yet from that distance, her eyes accustomed to
the dense gloom, she could distinguish enough to quicken her breathing
and cause her to clutch the sleeve of her companion.

The lantern occupied a niche in the side wall at the bottom of a flight
of rude steps. Not more than a half-dozen of these were revealed, but
at their foot, where the passage had been widened somewhat, extended a
stone bench, on which lounged two men. One was lying back, his head
pillowed on a rolled coat, yet was evidently awake; for the other,
seated below him, with knees drawn up for comfort, kept up conversation
in a low voice, the words being inaudible at that distance. Even in
that dim light the two were clearly Mexican.

"What shall we do?" she asked, her lips at Cavendish's ear. "We cannot
pass them - they are on guard."

"I was wondering how close I could creep in before they saw me," he
answered, using the same caution. "If I was only sure they were alone,
and could once get the drop, we might make it."

"You fear there may be others posted at the top?"

"There is quite likely to be; the fellows are evidently taking no
chances of surprise. What do you think best?"

"Even if you succeeded in overawing these two, we would have no way of
securing them. An alarm would be given before we could get beyond
reach. Our only hope of escape lies in getting out of here unseen."

"Yes, and before Cateras is discovered."

"He gave no orders to the guard to return?"

"No; but he will be missed after a while and sought for. We cannot
count on any long delay, and when it is found that he has been knocked
out, and we have disappeared, every inch of this cave will be searched.
There is no place to hide, and only the two ways by which to get out."

"Then, let's go back and try the other," she urged. "That opens
directly into the valley and is probably not guarded. What is
happening now?"

A grey gleam of light struck the steps from above, recognised instantly
as a reflection of day, as though some cover had been uplifted
connecting this underground labyrinth with the clear sky. A dim shadow
touched the illumined rocks for a brief moment, a moving shadow
uncertain in its outlines, grotesque, shapeless: and then the daylight
vanished as suddenly as it dawned. There was a faint click, as though
a door closed, while darkness resumed sway, the silence unbroken, but
for the scraping of a step on those rude stairs. The two guards below
came to their feet, rigid in the glow of the lantern, their faces
turned upward. Then a man came slowly down the last few steps and
joined them.


CHAPTER XXVII: A DANGEROUS PRISONER

He was tall and thin, wearing a wide cloak about his shoulders, and
high hat with broad brim. Even at that distance it could be seen that
his long hair was grey, and that a heavy moustache, snow-white, made
more noticeable the thin features of his face. The man was Mexican, no
doubt of that, but of the higher class, the dead pallor of his skin
accented by the black, deep-seated eyes. He looked at the two men
closely, and his voice easily reached the ears of the listeners.

"Who posted you here?"

"Juan Cateras, _señor_," answered one.

"Not on my order. Dias is watching above. Did the lieutenant give you
a reason?"

"The prisoners, _señor_."

"The prisoners! Oh, yes; those that Lacy had confined here. Well,
they will not be here for long. I do not believe in prisoners, and
because I do business with that dog is no reason why he is privileged
to use this place to hold his victims. I have just despatched a
messenger to Haskell to that effect, and we'll soon be rid of them.
Where is Cateras?"

"In the valley, _señor_! he went back down the passage with Silva after
posting us here."

"And the prisoners?"

"Occupy the two inner cells. Merodiz here says one of them is a girl."

"A girl!" the tall man laughed. "That then will account for the
unusual interest of Juan Cateras, and why he preferred being left in
charge. A girl, hey, Merodiz! You saw the witch? What sort was she?"

"An American, _señor_, young, and good to look at," the other man
explained. "Her eyes as blue as the skies."

"Good! 'tis not often the gods serve us so well. I forgive Cateras for
failure to report such a prize, but from now on will see that he takes
his proper place. She was here when we came?"

"No, _señor_; the two Americanos brought her; it was Silva and I who
put her in the cell."

"At Cateras's order?"

"Yes, _señor_."

"In what cell?"

"The second in the passage; the man who was here when we came has the
one this way."

"Caramba! this is all pleasant enough. I will pay my respects to the
lady, and there is no time like the present."

He turned away, thumbing his moustache, quite pleased with his conceit,
but one of the men stopped him with a question.

"We remain here, _señor_?"

"Yes, you might as well," his lips smiling, "and if the Señor Cateras
passes, you can tell him that I visit the fair American. It will give
him joy."

The girl drew Cavendish back hurriedly, her mind working in a flash of
inspiration.

"Quick," she breathed in his ear. "There is a niche where we can hide
a few yards back. If he follows the other wall he might pass, and not
notice."

"But he goes to your cell; 'tis Pasqual Mendez."

"I know, but come. He must not go there. I will tell you my plan."

They were pressed back within the slight recess before the Mexican
turned the corner, and she had hastily breathed her desperate scheme.

"It can be done," she insisted, "and there is nought else possible. We
dare not let him enter, and find Cateras, and to kill the man will
serve no good end. You will not? Then give me the revolver. Good!
Be silent now."

Mendez came down the black passage evidently in rare good humour,
humming a tune, with one hand pressed upon the wall to better guide his
movements. So dark it was, even the outlines of his form were
indistinguishable, yet, as he felt no need for caution, it was easy
enough to trace his forward progress. The girl stood erect, the
revolver gripped in one hand, the other pressing back her companion
into the recess. She had lost all sense of fear in the determination
to act; better risk all than surrender without a struggle. Mendez
fumbled along the wall, stumbled over some slight projection and swore;
another step, and his groping hand would touch her. He never took the
step, but was whirled against the side wall, with the cold barrel of a
revolver pressed against his cheek. A stern, sibilant whisper held him
motionless.

"If you move I fire, _señor_; raise your hands - quick!"

He responded mechanically, too profoundly astounded to dream of
resistance. It was the sound of the voice which impressed him.

"Santa Maria! A woman?"

"Yes, _señor_, a woman; the same you sought, but I have found you
first."

He chuckled.

"A good jest surely; how came you here?"

"Not to discuss that, _señor_," quietly. "Nor is this to be laughed
over. If you would live, do as I say. Mr. Cavendish, see if the man
bears weapons."

"Only a belt with a knife."

"Keep the knife; it may come handy for some purpose. Now bind his
hands with the belt. Cross your wrists, _señor_."

He had lost his temper, no longer deeming this a joke.

"You damn vixen," he growled savagely. "This play will soon be done;
do you know who I am?"

"The Señor Pasqual Mendez, but that means nothing," she answered.
"This revolver will kill you as surely as any one else. Do what I say
then, and talk no more - cross your wrists behind."

He did so, and Cavendish strapped the stout belt about them, winding it
in and out until he had sure purchase. He drew it so tightly the
fellow winced.

"It hurts, _señor_," she said, satisfied. "Well, to hurt you a little
is better than what you planned for me. Now lead on. No, listen
first. I know who you are and your power here. That is why we took
this chance of making you prisoner. We are desperate; it is either
your life, or ours, _señor_. You are an outlaw, with a price on your
head, and you realise what chances one will take to escape. Now there
is just one opportunity given you to live."

"What, _señorita_?"

"That you accompany us down this passage into the valley as hostage.
You will compel your men, if we encounter any, to furnish us horses."

"But the men may not obey. I cannot promise; Señor Cateras - - "

"Señor Cateras will not be there," she interrupted sharply. "We have
already seen to Señor Cateras. The others will obey you?"

"They may; I cannot promise."

"Then it will be your own loss; for if there be a shot fired, you will
get either a bullet or a knife thrust. I would try no sharp tricks,
Señor Mendez. Now we go on."

Mendez smiled grimly in the dark, his mind busy. He had seen much of
life of a kind and felt no doubt but this young woman would keep her
word. She had become sufficiently desperate to be dangerous, and he
felt no desire to drive her to extremes. Besides he was helpless to
resist, but would watch for opportunity, trusting in luck.

"I am to go first?" and his voice assumed polite deference.

"Beside Mr. Cavendish," she replied, "and I will be behind."

"This gentleman, you mean?"

"Yes; and there is no need for any more acting. This is the revolver
pressing against your back, _señor_. I could scarcely miss you at that
distance."

They advanced in silence, through the faint gleam of light which
illumined the passage through the stone slits over the cell doors.
Only then did Mendez venture to pause, and glance back at his captor.

"Pardon, _señorita_," he said gallantly, "but I would have view of the
first lady who ever took Pasqual Mendez prisoner. The sight robs me of
all displeasure. In truth it is hardly necessary for you to resort to
fire-arms."

"I prefer them," shortly. "Go on!"

The darkness swallowed them again, but the way was clear, and, once
around the sharp turn, a glimmer of distant daylight made advance
easier. There was no sign of any guard visible, nor any movement
perceptible in the open vista beyond the cave entrance. The girl
touched Mendez's arm.

"Wait; I would ask a question, or two first, before we venture further.
I was brought in this way, yet my memory is not clear. There are two
log houses before the cave?"

"Yes," he answered readily, "one somewhat larger than the other - the
men occupy that; the other is for myself and my officers."

"Besides Cateras?"

"No, not at present; at times I have guests. It would be pleasurable
to entertain you, and your friend."

"No doubt. You expect Lacy?"

"You know that also? How did you learn?"

"I heard you talk to the men at the other end. It is true, is it not?"

"I have sent for him; it was yesterday."

"And he could be here now?"

"Not before night; it is a hard ride; why ask all this?"

"I have reasons. Now another thing; where are your men?"

His eyes wandered to the gleam of daylight.

"There will be one or two in the bunk-house likely; the others are with
the cattle up the valley."

"But none in your cabin?"

He shook his head.

"And you say Lacy cannot get here before dark? How late?"

He hesitated over his reply, endeavouring shrewdly to conjecture what
could be the object of all this questioning, yet finally concluding
that the truth would make very little difference.

"Well, _señorita_, I may as well tell you, I suppose. It is the rule
not to enter this valley until after dark. I expect the Americanos to
arrive about ten o'clock."

"The Americanos?"

"_Si_, there will be three in the party, one of them a man from New
York, who has business with me."

Miss Donovan's decision was rapidly made, her mind instantly grasping
the situation. This man would be Enright, and the business he had with
Mendez concerned Cavendish, and possibly herself also. She glanced
again into the stern, hawklike face of the Mexican, recognising its
lines of relentless cruelty, the complete absence of any sense of
mercy. His piercing eyes and thin lips gave evidence enough that he
was open to any bargain if the reward should be commensurate with the
risk. The man's age, and grey hair, only served to render more
noticeable his real character - he was a human tiger, held now in
restraint, but only waiting a chance to break his chains, and sink
teeth in any victim. The very sight of him sent a shudder through her
body, even as it stiffened her purpose.

Her clear, thoughtful eyes turned inquiringly toward Cavendish, but the
survey brought with it no encouragement. The man meant well, no doubt,
and would fight valiantly on occasion; he was no coward, no
weakling - equally clear his was not the stuff from which leaders are
made. There was uncertainty in his eyes, a lack of force in his face
which told the story. Whatever was decided upon, or accomplished, must
be by her volition; she could trust him to obey, but that was all. Her
body straightened into new resolve, all her womanhood called to the
front by this emergency.

"Then we will make no attempt to leave the valley until after dark,"
she said slowly. "Even if we got away now, we would be pursued, and
overtaken, for the desert offers few chances for concealment. If we
can reach that smaller cabin unseen we ought to be safe enough there
for hours. Cateras will not bother, and with Mendez captive, his men
will not learn what has occurred. Is not this our best plan, Mr.
Cavendish?"

"And at night?"

"We must work some scheme to get horses, and depart before those others
reach here. There will be plenty of time between dark and ten o'clock.
If we leave this man securely bound, his plight will not even be
discovered until Lacy arrives. By that time, with any good fortune, we
will be beyond pursuit, lost in the desert. Do you think of anything
better?"

That he did not was evidenced by the vacant look in his eyes, and she
waited for no answer.

"Here," she said, thrusting the revolver into his hand, "take this, and
guard Mendez until I return. It will only be a moment. Don't take
your eyes off him; there must be no alarm."

She moved forward through the gloomy shadows toward the light showing
at the mouth of the cave. The rocks here were in their natural state,
exactly as left by the forces which had originally disrupted them, the
cavern's mouth much wider than the tunnel piercing the hill, and
somewhat obstructed by ridges of stone.

Sheltered by these Stella crept to the very edge of the opening, and
was able to gain a comprehensive view of the entire scene beyond.
Within the cave itself there was no movement, no evidence of life.
Quite clearly no guard had been posted here, and no precautions taken,
although doubtless the only entrance to the deep valley was carefully
watched.

A glance without convinced her that no other guardianship was necessary
to assure safety. The valley lay before her, almost a level plain,
except for the stream winding through its centre, and all about,
unbroken and precipitous, arose the rampart of rocks, which seemed
unscalable.

She rested there long enough to trace this barrier inch by inch in its
complete circle, but found no opening, no cleft, promising a possible
exit, except where the trail led up almost directly opposite, and only
memory of her descent enabled her to recognise this. Satisfied that
the top could be attained in no other way, her eyes sought the things
of more immediate interest. The two cabins were directly before the
entrance, the smaller closely in against the cliff, the larger slightly
advanced. Neither exhibited any sign of life; indeed the only evidence
that the valley contained human occupants was the distant view of two
herders, busily engaged in rounding up a bunch of cattle on the
opposite bank of the stream. These were too far away, and too intently
engaged at their task, to observe any movement at this distance.

Her study of the situation concentrated on the small cabin immediately
in front. It was low, a scant story in height, but slightly elevated
from the ground, leaving a vacant space beneath. It was built of logs,
well mortised together, and plastered between with clay. The roof
sloped barely enough to shed water, and there were no windows on the
end toward the cliff, or along the one side which she could see from
where she lay. The single door must open from the front, and
apparently the house had been erected with the thought that it might
some time be used for purposes of defence, as it had almost the
appearance of a fort. The larger building was not entirely unlike this
in general design, except that small openings had been cut in the log
walls, and a rude chimney arose through the roof. Both appeared
deserted. Confident there could be no better time for the venture,
Stella signalled with her hand for the others to join her.

They advanced slowly, Cavendish holding the revolver at the Mexican's
head, the latter grinning savagely, his dark eyes never still. Bitter
hate, desperate resolve, marked his every action, although he sought to
appear indifferent. The girl's lips were compressed, and her eyes met
his firmly.

"The way is clear," she said, "and, listen to my warning, _señor_. We
are going straight along the north side of your cabin there, until we
reach the door. For about twenty feet we shall be exposed to view from
that other cabin, if any of your men are there. If you dare utter a
sound, or make a motion, this man will shoot you dead in your
tracks - do you understand?"

His look was ugly enough, although he compelled the thin lips to smile.

"Quite clearly - yes; but pardon me if I doubt. You might kill me; I
think that, yet how would it serve you? One shot fired would bring
here a dozen men - then what?"

"I thank you, _señor_; there will be no shot fired. Give me the
revolver, Mr. Cavendish; now take this knife. As we advance walk one
step behind Mendez. You will know what to do. Now, _señor_, if you
wish to try an experiment - we go now."

There was not a sound, not a word. Not unlike three shadows they
crossed the open space, and found shelter behind the walls of the hut.
The girl never removed her eyes from the other cabin, and Cavendish, a
step behind his prisoner, poised for a quick blow, the steel blade
glittering in uplifted hand, saw nothing but the back of the man before
him. The latter shrugged his shoulders and marched forward, his eyes
alone evidencing the passion raging within.

Without pausing they reached the door, which stood slightly ajar.
Stella pushed it open, took one swift glance within and stepped aside.
The other two entered, and she instantly followed, closing the door,
and securing it with a stout wooden bar. Her face was white, marked by
nervous emotion, her eyes bright and fearless. With one swift glance
she visioned the interior; there were two rooms, both small, divided by
a solid log partition, pierced by a narrow door-way.

The back room was dark, seemingly without windows, but this in which
they stood had an opening to the right, letting in the sunlight. It
was a mere slash in the logs, unframed, and could be closed by a heavy
wooden shutter. She stepped across and glanced out. The view revealed
included a large portion of the valley, and the entrance to the other
cabin. There was no excitement, no evidence of any alarm - their
crossing from the mouth of the cave had escaped observation. Thus far
at least they were safe.

Her heart beat faster as she turned away, satisfied with the success of
her plan. Nothing remained now but to secure Mendez, to make it
impossible for him to raise an alarm. If he could be bound, and locked
into that rear room. She looked at the two men - the Mexican had
slouched down into a chair, apparently having abandoned all hope of
escape, his chin lowered on his breast, his eyes hidden beneath the
wide brim of his hat. He was a perfect picture of depression, but
Cavendish appeared alert enough, the deadly knife still gripped in his
hand, a motionless, threatening figure. Feeling no trepidation, she
crossed toward the other room, noting as she passed that Mendez lifted
his head to observe her movements. She paused at the door, turning
suspiciously, but the man had already seemingly lost interest, and his
head again drooped. She stepped within.


CHAPTER XXVIII: WITH BACK TO THE WALL

It was dingy dark once she had crossed the threshold, yet enough of
light flickered in through the doorway to enable her to perceive the
few articles of furniture. The room itself was a small one, but
contained a roughly constructed wooden bed, two stools, and a square
table of unplaned boards. A strip of rag carpet covered a portion of
the floor, and there was a sort of cupboard in one corner, the door of
which stood open, revealing a variety of parcels, littering the
shelves. Against the wall in a corner leaned a short-barrelled gun, a
canvas bag draped over its muzzle.

She had no opportunity to observe more. To her ears there came the
sound of a blow in the room she had just left, a groan, the dull thud
of a body striking the floor, accompanied by a Spanish oath, and a
shuffling of feet. She sprang back into the open doorway, startled,
certain only of some catastrophe, her fingers gripping hard on the
revolver.

Cavendish lay writhing on the floor, the chair overturned beside him,
and the Mexican, with one swift leap forward, cleared the body, and
reached the window. Even as she caught this movement, too dazed for
the instant to act, the injured man struggled up on one elbow, and,
with all the force he possessed, hurled the knife straight at the
fleeing figure. It flashed through the air, a savage gleam of steel,
barely missing Mendez's shoulder, and buried itself in a log, quivering
from the force of impact. With a yell of derision, his hands still
bound, the desperate fugitive cast himself head-first through the
opening. Without aim, scarcely aware of what she did, the girl flung
up her weapon and fired. With revolver yet smoking she rushed forward
to look without. Rolling over and over on the ground, his face covered
with blood, Mendez was seeking to round the corner of the cabin, to get
beyond range. Again she pulled the trigger, the powder smoke blowing
back into her face, and blinding her. When she could see once more, he
was gone, but men were leaping out through the door of the bunk-house,
shouting in excitement.

One of these caught sight of her, and fired, the bullet chugging into
the end of a log, so closely it caught a strand of her hair, but,
before another shot could follow, she had seized the shutter, and
closed the opening, driving the latch fast with the revolver butt. She
was cool enough now, every nerve on edge, realising fully the danger of
their position. All the blood of a fighting race surged through her
veins, and she was conscious of no fear, only of a wild exultation, a
strange desire to win. As she turned she faced Cavendish, only vaguely
visible in the twilight caused by the closed window. He was still