The sun hung low in the western sky, with a peak of the black cordillera cutting its lower edge, and Rio Frio shone in the glaring light. Seen from the road across the valley, the town had an ethereal look, for the tiers of square, white houses rose from a gulf of shadow and clustered upon the hillside, glimmering with a pearly luster, picked out by clumps of green. Behind were barren slopes, deepening in color to dusky purple as they ran back to the foot of the mountain wall.

Walthew pulled up his mule and sat gazing at the town. He had been riding beside Blanca, while Father Agustin and two others followed at some distance.

"Five minutes ago you could hardly see the place against the background and now it glows as if it were lighted up inside," he remarked. "Looks more like an enchanted palace than a collection of adobe houses. One could imagine that some magician had suddenly conjured it up."

"I'm afraid there's not much enchantment in Rio Frio," Blanca answered. "It's very prosaic and rather dirty."

"Well, I don't know," said Walthew, looking boldly at her. "I'm not given to romantic sentiment, but something very strange happened to me one night in your town. Must have been glamour in the air, for I've been a changed man ever since. You wouldn't expect a matter-of-fact American, who was on the hunt for money, to trail round the country trying to act like Garibaldi, unless he was bewitched."

Blanca smiled prettily.

"You have, at least, chosen to follow a great example, seÑor."

"I don't think I chose him," Walthew returned dryly. "I'd have looked for somebody easier."

"But you were free to give up the part if you found it too hard for you."

"No; that's the trouble. I wasn't free."

The girl knew that he was not talking at random to hide nervousness. There was an underlying gravity in his manner and she secretly thrilled to it. Although he still wore the dirty bandage and was dusty and unkempt, she thought he had a very gallant air. His eyes were bright and intent, and his thin face was very resolute. The faint smile with which he regarded her somehow emphasized his determined, highstrung look.

"SeÑor," she said, "it is better to aim high. Achievement is not everything; the effort counts, and it is a generous errand you go upon to-night. But we will talk of something else. Look; there is the house where I spent the only happy years I can remember, until my father heard the call of duty once more and obeyed. Higher up, you can see the green gap of the alameda; beyond it the church of San Sebastian." She paused for a moment with a shiver. "The white line beneath it is the top of the presidio, where Gomez lives. But the light fades quickly, and now, see—everything has gone."

The sun had sunk behind the cordillera, and the white town, changing suddenly to gray, melted out of sight as the shadows rolled up the hillside.

"You must see that it's enchanted," Walthew remarked. "The magician has waved his wand and blotted it out."

"It will shine again to-morrow," Blanca answered in a quiet voice. "The shadows have long rested on this country of ours, but one looks for the dawn."

The others were close behind them, but the party was smaller than it had been. Ragged men with dark, determined faces had been picked up on the way, but it would excite suspicion if they entered Rio Frio in a body, and they had separated during the last hour. Walthew did not know what their orders were, but he thought they would act upon some plan already made if he failed to secure Grahame's release; and Blanca presently bore this conclusion out.

"You will not be left unsupported, but it will be better if you can make Gomez set your comrade free without our help," she said. "We do not wish to strike the first blow to-night, but if it is needful, the presidio will be attacked. Gomez's position is like ours: he is not quite ready to force a conflict. You see how that strengthens your hand. He cannot altogether trust his soldiers, and a shot would rouse the town." Her voice sounded rather strained as she concluded: "But if you are careful, the shot will not be fired. Gomez is cruel, but he is a coward, and will give way if you use moral force."

"It's a big thing," Walthew answered thoughtfully. "Still, I must put it over somehow. I have to get my partner out."

Darkness fell before they reached Rio Frio, and Blanca stopped her mule on the outskirts of the town.

"We must separate here," she said. "I do not think the entrance is carefully guarded, because it is not Gomez's policy to admit that an attack is possible, but there may be spies, and a rural or two on watch." She paused and held out her hand. "I wish you good fortune, seÑor, and I do not think your nerve will fail, but if the worst comes, we will not leave you in Gomez's power."

Walthew, bending down, kissed her hand and then lifted his hat.

"Until I see you again, seÑorita," he said and quietly rode on.

There was no moon and the air was still. The town rose before him, vague and shadowy, with a faint musky smell drifting out from it. As he reached the first of the houses, a wave of heat, rising from the rough pavement, surrounded him. The walls looked blank, for there were no lights behind the lattices, but a ray of brightness fell across the street a short distance in front. As he crossed the illuminated strip a man in white uniform stepped forward and seized his bridle.

"Who comes?" he asked, looking hard at Walthew's face.

"A messenger for the secretario."

"Pass, friend," said the other, letting go the bridle.

Walthew rode on, but checked the mule as soon as he was out of sight. It looked as if he had been expected, but he had been warned that he must give the revolutionaries time to communicate with their friends in the city. They might have some trouble in entering it, although he believed they meant to do so through the house of some sympathizer on the outskirts. When he turned a corner he stopped to listen, but heard nothing behind him, and the street in front was quiet. It seemed that nobody had been sent to announce his arrival, and he could proceed slowly without rousing suspicion.

Leaving the direct line, he wound in and out through narrow streets, the mule's shoes clanging on the hot stones. He passed one or two dimly lighted cafÉs where men, roused by the clatter, looked up, their figures showing indistinct about the small tables between the pillars. Farther on, shadowy groups were sitting close together on the pavement, and though their voices were quiet they had somehow an air of excitement. Men appeared and vanished in the gloom, moving softly and quickly, as if afraid of loitering. There was a mysterious hint of tension about all that Walthew saw, and he felt his heart beat as he rode on.

Crossing the plaza, he dismounted at the hotel he had previously visited, and sent for the majordomo when the hostler grumbled something about the stable's being full.

"You will remember me," he said. "I want to leave my mule here and perhaps spend the night."

"I am sorry, but we have no room; there are a number of strangers in the town. They are not so full at the Golden Fleece."

"I'd rather stay here if I have to wait until to-morrow," Walthew answered. "You take care of the mules well, and I may have a long ride. Then one puts up at a place one knows, with more—confidence."

The majordomo looked hard at him.

"We must try to make room, seÑor, since you have—confidence."

"Exactly," said Walthew, smiling. "Now I want the mule fed but not unsaddled. I may perhaps need it in an hour, and it would be an advantage if you could find me another."

"It might be possible," the majordomo replied in a thoughtful tone. "Still, there are spies about and they may watch this house. With permission, I will send the mule to Ramon Silva in the calle Pinastro. He is a carrier, and it is known that he buys pack-animals; he will have both mules ready, if you ask for them with confidence."

Walthew thanked the man and set off for the presidio. It was a long, square-fronted building with a sentry-box at the entrance, and an untidy soldier sat smoking outside. Another stood a little farther on in a slouching attitude, a rifle raking across his shoulder and his kepis tilted to one side. Discipline is seldom marked among Spanish-American soldiers, but Walthew was somewhat surprised to note that the fellow was bantering a group of loiterers. They were dressed like peons, and one carried a tray of sweetmeats and another a quantity of cigarettes, apparently for sale. As Walthew passed, the former hurriedly moved his tray, as if to prevent its being upset.

"Be careful, seÑor!" he exclaimed, giving Walthew a warning glance.

Walthew understood it. The men were not there by accident, and he saw that one was within leaping distance of the sentry. He knew that the Spanish knife is almost as dangerous as the rifle at close quarters; and can, moreover, be thrown a short distance with effect.

"I have a message for the secretario," he told the sentry with a careless air.

The man let him pass, and he saw that he was expected when a dusky steward met him at the door. Since the despatch-carrier was known to be a foreigner, it was easy to enter the presidio, but he wondered what would happen before he left. Now that the dangerous game was about to begin, he clearly recognized the risk he ran. For all that, it looked as if he held the trump cards, and he hoped that he had nerve enough to play them well. Pulling himself together, he followed his guide across the patio and up an outer stair, until the man stopped and knocked at a door.

"The messenger, seÑor," he announced.

Walthew held his breath until he heard the door shut behind him; then he turned to Gomez, who had risen from his seat at a table. It was a small room and the table stood between the men. Walthew felt his nerves tingle and his skin grow damp with perspiration as Gomez looked at him. There was surprise in the secretary's face and he seemed puzzled, as if he were trying to revive a memory.

"You are not the man we were told would come, but I think I have seen you somewhere," he said.

Walthew stood still, his hand in his jacket pocket, as if about to take the despatches from it.

"The other messenger was detained, but we have met. I once dined at your table at the International, in Havana."Gomez gave him a quick, suspicious glance.

"Then there is something I do not understand, but it is not important now. You bring the President's orders?"

"No; I bring this."

He took his hand from his pocket and the barrel of an automatic pistol glinted in the light.

Gomez flinched, but recovered his calm with a quickness that showed Walthew he had a dangerous antagonist.

"Push your chair back from that open drawer and then keep still!" he ordered.

Gomez obeyed, and Walthew sat down on the edge of the table, where, if necessary, he could spring up more quickly than from a chair. Besides, the position helped him to keep both Gomez and the door in sight.

"You are uselessly dramatic, seÑor," Gomez remarked with a forced sneer. "You dare not use the pistol, and I am not to be frightened by so cheap a trick."

Walthew did not put down the weapon.

"Rather stale, but it has served its purpose by stopping you from calling out, and that's all I wanted to begin with. Now I'm going to show you how we stand."

"Your position strikes me as very weak."

"Well," said Walthew coolly, "I don't know. There are some chances in my favor."

"Not many, I think. A shot or a call from me would lead to your immediate arrest."

Walthew lowered the pistol.

"I'm not going to shoot and you won't call. One of your sentries is smoking cigarettes, with a wiry liberator ready to put his knife into him, and something would happen to the other before he could throw up his rifle. Then, a number of my friends are waiting to seize the gate."

"What would they gain? They could not hold the building. In a few minutes the soldiers would arrive."

"Just so. Still, they'd have a few minutes, and there's reason for believing they're not fond of you. Then, I don't mean to be made a prisoner and, if I'm forced to, I'll shoot straight."

This was not an idle threat. Walthew's nerves were steady, and he felt a rancorous hatred of the man. He had been guilty of unspeakable cruelties, he had carried off an American girl, and he now had Grahame in his power. Walthew's face was pale, but his lips were firmly set, and there was an ominous gleam in his eyes. Gomez began to grow uneasy.

"However," Walthew went on, "the important point is that the first shot starts the revolution. My friends won't have much trouble with the sentries at the door, but if your soldiers try to break in afterward, it will rouse the town. You may take this for granted, because you must see that I'd make sure of being supported outside before I ventured here."

Gomez pondered. The American's position was certainly strong. The lad was not a rash fool, and his having made the venture proved his statement about the likelihood of a revolution to be correct; moreover, Gomez had other reasons for not questioning it. As he looked up, Walthew made a warning gesture and Gomez heard footsteps outside.

"Don't move!" said Walthew in a low, tense voice. "If that fellow comes in it will make trouble for both of us. You'd better think how you're going to keep him out!"

The secretary's lips twitched, but he sat motionless. The steps drew nearer, echoing down the passage; in another moment the man outside would reach the door. Walthew held his breath; but the steps continued and passed. Then they grew fainter, and Walthew saw his antagonist's pose relax; the strain had told on him. Gomez was weakening and the game was nearly won.

"What do you want?" the secretary asked.

"An order for Grahame's release."

"Impossible! My signature would make me responsible to the President."

"You'll take a bigger responsibility if you refuse; the men I left waiting will begin the trouble if I'm not outside very soon. You haven't got your master's orders yet, and the liberators have headed his messenger off. I guess you'll have to answer for it if you spoil his plans. Remember you'll have to face a revolution unless you let Grahame out."

Gomez was silent for a few moments and then made a sign of acquiescence.

"Very well," he said, and pulling his chair to the table began to write. Then he gave Walthew the paper. "Are you satisfied?"

"Not quite," said Walthew, glancing over the message. "Ring for one of your men and send it off with this note." He handed both papers to Gomez. "Order him to deliver them at once!"

When the man came in, Walthew was sitting carelessly in a chair, as if nothing unusual had been going on. His right hand, however, was gripping the pistol in his jacket pocket."I'll wait here for five minutes to give him a start. Seems to me that would be safer," he said when the orderly had left them.

He was relieved when he thought he could get up, for the strain had been heavy, and he was feeling rather limp, but he walked steadily to the door and did not quicken his steps until he reached the stairs. It was with tingling nerves that he came to the outer gate; but the sentries let him pass, and when he had gone a short distance, three or four peons who were hanging about turned and followed him. He was outside in the friendly darkness, but he had still to leave the town.