"What does she mean by the evil-eye?" asked the Captain after the sounds of the SeÑora's footsteps had died away in the corridor within the house.

"Nothing—it's only jealousy. Chiquita being the acknowledged belle of the town, most of the other women, especially those of pure Spanish blood, are jealous as cats of her, and seldom miss an opportunity of saying spiteful things about her. That's why her dancing has caused such a row. And yet," he continued, seating himself on the veranda rail, his back against one of its wooden pillars, "I can't see why. It's race hatred of course, but there's really no reason for it because she's the best educated woman between here and the City of Mexico. Padre Antonio saw to it that she received the best Mexico had to give. Why, she speaks French and English almost as well as she does Spanish. If she were a mestiza or half-caste, things would go hard with her, but being a full-blood, she's easily a match for them all."

"She's certainly an unusual woman," said the Captain; "one you would hardly expect to find in this out-of-the-way place."

"Oh, that's one of the many paradoxes in life," answered Dick. "I've met many a remarkable personality in the most remote regions during my wanderings. But," he continued, abruptly changing the topic of conversation, "what brings you back here? I always felt you would come back to this country again. Civilization isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it?"

"It was a hard wrench just the same," returned the Captain, "especially when one—"

"Did you hear that?" suddenly interrupted Dick, rising from his seat on the veranda rail and gazing intently down the highroad. The sounds of a vehicle and hoof-beats on the hard road, mingled with the shouts of a driver, the crack of a whip and tinkle of bells, were distinctly heard, and presently, a heavy lumbering stagecoach enveloped in a cloud of white dust and drawn by four mules was seen coming down the road at full gallop.

The sounds had also aroused the household. SeÑora Fernandez at the head of a troop of peons and women rushed out of the house, talking and gesticulating excitedly as they swarmed over the veranda and down the steps in front of the Posada, for all the world like a distracted colony of ants.

"Dios! what can have happened to the stage that it comes in the morning instead of the evening?" she cried breathlessly, quite forgetting her recent ill humor in the excitement.

"There's no stage at this hour," said Dick.

"But there it comes!" answered the Captain.

"It's not the regular stage," returned Dick; "a party of tourists, most likely! I see a lot of women!" he added, as the occupants on the outside of the stage came more clearly into view.

Suddenly Captain Forest started, gasped, and gripped one of the veranda pillars with his right hand. "No—it can't be!" he muttered, passing his free hand across his eyes as though to dispel an illusion.

"What's the matter, Jack?" asked Dick.

"God in heaven! what can have brought them here?" he cried, ignoring his companion's question and leaning out over the veranda rail, his gaze riveted on the stage.

"Friends of yours?" asked Dick again.

"Friends? It's the whole family!"

Dick gave a prolonged whistle.

The women and peons, clamoring vociferously, instantly surrounded the stage as it drew up before the Posada with a great clatter of wheels and hoofs; assisting its occupants to alight and carrying the luggage into the house.

On the box beside the driver sat Blanch Lennox, looking a trifle pale the Captain thought, and Bessie Van Ashton, his cousin, a pretty blond with large violet eyes and small hands and feet that matched her slender, willowy figure.

"Is this the infernal place?" came a voice from the interior of the coach that sounded more like a snarl of a wild beast than a human voice. "If ever I pass another night in such a damned ark—" came the voice again, as its possessor, Colonel Van Ashton, enveloped in a much wrinkled traveling coat, stepped with difficulty from the coach to the ground. "I'm so stiff I can hardly walk! Ough!" he cried, and his right hand went to his back as a fresh spasm of pain seized him.

"It's just what I told you it would be like! The country's beastly—beastly!" and Mrs. Forest, white with dust and completely exhausted by the journey, followed the Colonel, supported on either side by her maid and her brother's valet.

"Merciful God! they must be very grand people to talk so foolish!" ejaculated the SeÑora who knew enough English to grasp the import of Mrs. Forest's words. Although she had never devoted much time to the study of the language, she had picked up a smattering of English from the Americans and Englishmen who annually stopped at the Posada on their way to the mines in the interior of the country in which much foreign capital was invested.

"Why, there's Jack!" cried Bessie, dropping lightly from the box into the arms of two peons who stood below to assist her to the ground.

"Hello, Jack!" she continued, advancing, "I'll wager you didn't expect to see us this morning, did you?"

The Captain noted the ring of sarcasm in her voice as she concluded.

"I confess I did not, Cousin," he answered, descending the veranda to meet them. "What in the world brought you here?" he asked, taking his cousin's hand.

"Oh! we thought we'd like to see a little more of the world before we became too old to enjoy traveling," she answered, with a peculiar little laugh that was all her own and which usually conveyed a sense of uneasiness to those toward whom it was directed.

"How much longer are you going to stand there asking idiotic questions?" broke in Mrs. Forest with a furious glance at her son. "Can't you see, I'm nearly dead?"

"Really, Mother, I'm very sorry," returned the Captain, "but it's all your own fault, you know. Why did you come?"

"Our fault—why did we come? It's your fault—your fault, sir!" she almost screamed, and ended by laughing hysterically.

Colonel Van Ashton who had been nursing his wrath all night long while being bumped over a rough road in an old broken-down stagecoach, required but the sight of his nephew to cause an explosion. He had not closed his eyes during the entire night, and like his sister, Mrs. Forest, was in a state of collapse. His usually florid complexion had turned to a brilliant crimson, giving him the appearance of an overheated furnace.

He regarded himself as a martyr, nay, worse—an innocent victim of fate who, entirely against his will, had been cruelly dragged into the present intolerable situation by the caprice of his accursed nephew.

He had suffered long and patiently all that mortal flesh and blood could endure. But, thank God, there were compensations in this life after all—the object of his wrath stood before him at last.

"So this, sir, is what you call returning to nature, is it?" he cried in a hoarse roar, controlling his voice with difficulty and glaring savagely at his nephew.

"It's evidently not to your liking, Uncle," replied the Captain quietly, doing his best to keep from laughing in his face.

"Liking!"—roared the Colonel again, his voice raised to the breaking pitch—"I never thought I'd get to hell so soon! Why, sir," he continued, knocking a cloud of dust from his hat, "this isn't nature, this is geology! I don't see how you ever discovered the damned country! The wind-swept wastes of Dante's Inferno are verdant in comparison! You're mad, there's no doubt of it!" he fumed, stamping up and down.

"Do you know," he went on, stopping abruptly before his nephew, "they say that, before you left Newport, you ran your touring-car over the cliff into the sea—a machine that must have cost you fifteen thousand at least!"

"Well, what if I did? It served me right for deserting my horse for the devil's toy. Thank God, I'm rid of the infernal machine!"

"Look here, Jack Forest—" but the Colonel's voice broke in a violent fit of coughing.

It required but little discernment on the part of the Mexicans to perceive that the meeting between Captain Forest and his family was not what might be termed particularly felicitous. Even SeÑora Fernandez was quick enough to perceive that things were going from bad to worse, and in an effort to smooth matters, she stepped forward and in her best English said: "SeÑor Capitan, why did you tell me not zat ze ladies were coming? I might 'ave prepared been for zem."

"My good SeÑora," responded the Captain, regarding her with a look of extreme compassion, "I never dreamt of such a misfortune."

"Just the sort of answer one might expect from you! Not a word of welcome or sympathy! I always said you were the most selfish mortal alive!" cried Mrs. Forest bitterly.

"SeÑoras, I pray for you, come into ze house at once!" spoke up the SeÑora again, turning entreatingly to the ladies. "I you promess, zat wen you an orange an' cup of coffee 'ave 'ad, you will yourselves better feel."

"The SeÑora's right," broke in the Captain. "Come into the house and when you've—" but his sentence was cut short by the sharp report of a pistol, followed in quick succession by two other shots, and a moment later a man, breathless and without coat or hat, and his shirt and trousers in tatters, rushed among them.

"Hide me quick, somebody!" he cried. "For God's sake—the posse—" but before he could finish, a troop of men, armed with six-shooters and Winchester rifles, burst from the cover of bushes that lined the highroad.

"There he is yonder, boys, behind that man!" cried their leader excitedly, a small, thick-set, broad-shouldered man with sandy hair and beard and florid complexion. The others, following the direction indicated by him, seized the fugitive who had taken refuge behind Captain Forest and dragged him hurriedly beneath one of the cottonwood trees, over a lower branch of which they flung a rope. Their work was so expeditious that, before the spectators could realize what was happening, they had bound his hands behind his back and fastened one end of the rope about his neck.

"Stand clear, everybody!" commanded the leader, his gaze sweeping the throng. Then turning to his men, he said: "When I give the word, boys, let him swing!"

"Don't, boys—don't!" cried the prisoner in a despairing, supplicating voice, dropping on his knees. "For God's sake—give me a chance—" but a jerk of the rope cut short his words which ended in an inarticulate gurgle in his throat.

"They are going to hang him—it's murder!" gasped Mrs. Forest, clinging to her trembling, terrified maid who was already on the verge of fainting.

"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, stepping forward, "I object to such an unheard-of proceeding! You have no right to hang a man without a trial."

"Say, old punk," cried the leader, turning savagely on the Colonel, "who's a runnin' this show?" The well-delivered blow of a sledge-hammer could not have been more crushing in its effect on the Colonel than were the words of the leader; he was completely silenced. Greatly to his credit, however, he stood his ground. He was no coward, for he had faced death and been wounded more than once in his younger days on the field of battle, and had he possessed a weapon at the moment, he would have snuffed out the leader's life as deliberately as he would have blown out the light of a candle, regardless of consequences. But recognizing the carrion with which he had to deal, and the futility of further interference, he quietly shrugged his shoulders, smiled and pulled the end of his mustache. The hanging might proceed so far as he was concerned.

"Gentlemen," spoke up the Captain, "what has this man done?"

"You'll learn that when we're through with him!" replied the leader.

Even were there no doubt of the prisoner's guilt and hanging a well-deserved punishment, Captain Forest, nevertheless, liked fair play. The blood surged to his face. His fighting instincts and spirit of resentment were thoroughly aroused. He had seen men hanged and shot down before in the most summary manner, some of them afterward proving to have been victims of gross error and brute passion. He also knew how futile it was to argue with men whose passions were roused to the fighting pitch. The Colonel's interference was an instance of how little such men could be influenced. It was absurd to look for moderation under the circumstances. There was only one way to save the prisoner—the use of the same means employed by the lynchers, namely, force. Whence could such interference come? How could a man single-handed cope with a well-armed body of men of their type? Only a miracle could save the prisoner and the intervention of a miracle is always a slender prop upon which to lean.

"Now, boys," continued the leader, turning to his men, "get ready—" but his voice was drowned by a chorus of cries and screams from the women.

"Silence!" he roared. "Stop that damn noise!"

"I would like to know, sir, who gave you authority to shut our mouths?" and Blanch Lennox planted herself squarely before him. So astonished was he by her sudden appearance and outburst, that he fell back a pace. He seemed to have lost his voice, and only after much hemming and hawing, managed to stammer an awkward apology while vainly endeavoring to conceal his embarrassment.

"Ladies," he finally began, removing his hat in an attempt at politeness, "I'm powerful sorry to be obliged to perform this painful duty contrary to your wishes, but the law must be obeyed. We've been a chasin' this feller, who's the most notorious scoundrel in the country, through the mountains for the last three weeks, and now we've got him, I reckon we ain't a goin' ter let him get away. Is we, boys?" and he turned confidently to his men.

"You bet we ain't!" they responded.

"No, ladies," echoed their leader in turn, "not if we know it. Besides, we've got permission from the Mexican authorities to do with him as we like. I guess," he added, "they'll be about as glad to be rid of him as we are. And now, ladies," he continued, "if you don't want to witness as pretty a hanging as ever took place in these parts, you'll take my advice and retire into the house as soon as possible."

But no one stirred. The tall handsome woman still stood before him unmoved, and he was beginning to realize that her gaze was becoming more difficult to meet. Somewhat disconcerted, he began again in his most persuasive tone.

"Ladies, please don't interrupt the course of the law by staying around here any longer than's necessary—for hang he will!" he added.

Still no one showed the slightest sign of complying with his wishes. The situation was becoming intolerable.

"Ladies," he began again, and this time rather peremptorily, "you'll greatly oblige us by retiring at once."

"We'll not move a step until you take the rope from that man's neck," said Blanch firmly and unabashed, still holding her ground. Her words acted like a challenge. His temper was thoroughly roused, it being a question whether he or a lot of women should have their way. He, Jim Blake, overpowered by a mob of sentimental, hysterical women—not while he lived!

"Then, ladies," he answered curtly, placing his hat firmly on his head, "if you won't go into the house, you'll have to see him swing, that's all!" and quickly detailing half his men who lined up before the spectators with cocked rifles, he shouted to the others behind them holding the rope: "Boys, when I count three, do your work!" There was no mistaking his words. The prisoner uttered a half-articulate groan.

"One—" slowly counted Blake.

The Mexicans crossed themselves and began to mutter prayers. Women screamed.

"Two—three—" but simultaneously with the word three, was heard the report of a pistol, and the men pulling on the rope rolled on the ground, a hopelessly entangled mass of arms and legs. The rope had been severed just above the prisoner's head, and when the smothered oaths of the men mingled with the screams of the women had subsided, Dick Yankton with pistol in hand was seen leaning out over the veranda rail.

"I reckon there won't be any hanging at the old Posada this morning, Jim Blake," he said, calmly covering the latter with his weapon.

"Well, darn my skin!" gasped Blake. "Where did you come from?"

"Oh, I just dropped around," replied Dick, unconcernedly.

"Now, gentlemen," he continued, addressing the men, "I've got the drop on Blake, and if any one of you moves hand or foot I'll send him to a warmer place than this in pretty quick time."

"Don't mind me, boys—turn loose on him!" cried Blake pluckily, but nobody seemed inclined to obey.

"It won't do, Jim," spoke up one of his men. "We ain't a going to see you killed before our eyes. Besides, it's Dick Yankton."

"Jack!" called out Dick, "free the prisoner and be quick about it!"

"You're interfering with the law!" roared Blake, as the Captain proceeded to obey Dick's command.

"I know it," replied Dick; "it isn't the first time I've interfered with it either. Besides, I don't see why I haven't got as good a right to it as you or any other man." Blake sputtered and squirmed helplessly as he faced Dick's weapon, not daring to lift a hand.

"What objection have you got to our ridding the earth of this damned scoundrel, I'd like to know?" he asked, choking with rage.

"Oh, as to that, I've got several, Jim Blake, and one of them is—I don't like to see a man hanged before breakfast. It sort of takes away one's appetite, you know," he added, coolly eyeing his adversary over the barrel of his pistol.

"Well, if you ain't the most impudent cuss I ever seen!" cried Blake, by this time almost on the point of exploding.

"Perhaps I am," answered Dick, the faintest smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "You're putting up a pretty big bluff, Jim, but I happen to be holding the cards in this game and I rather think you'll stay and see it out.

"Bob Carlton," he continued, addressing the prisoner whom the Captain had freed, "there's a black horse in the corral back of the house; jump on him just as he is and make tracks out of here as almighty fast as you know how!"

"Thank you, Dick, I'll not forget you!" cried Carlton, starting in the direction of the corral but, catching sight of Miss Van Ashton, he stopped short. "I—I beg your pardon, Madame," he stammered, "but would you mind telling me your name?"

"I can't see what business that is of yours!" replied Bessie curtly and with a toss of the head, turning her back upon him.

"I meant no offense, Madame—I—"

"Van Ashton's her name," said the Captain.

"Van Ashton!" he exclaimed.

"You had better be moving, Carlton—you damn fool!" came Dick's angry voice. "The next time you're in for a funeral I may not be around to stop it!"

Carlton needed no further urging. The sound of a horse going at full speed was presently heard on the road beyond the Posada.

"Don't any one move," said Dick quietly, as all listened in silence to the sounds which grew fainter and fainter until they ceased altogether in the distance.

"He's got a good mile start by this time," said Dick at length, coolly lowering his pistol and returning it to his pocket. "Gentlemen," he continued, leisurely descending the veranda, "you're at liberty to follow him if you like."

"After him, boys!" yelled Blake, suddenly aroused to fresh action.

"It's no use, Jim," said one of his men, "our hosses is cleaned blowed."

"Damnation!" growled Blake, tugging nervously at his beard. "And now, Dick Yankton," he continued, confronting him squarely with both feet spread wide apart and his hands thrust to his elbows in his trouser pockets, "the question is, what's to be done with you? I just guess we'll make an example of you for interfering with the law."

"And I guess you won't do anything of the kind, Jim Blake, because there isn't a white man in the country that will help you do it."

"The devil!" ejaculated Blake, completely taken aback by Dick's coolness.

"I guess Dick's about right there, Jim," spoke up another of his men.

Blake was about to continue the argument, but realizing that the sentiment of his men was not with him and that his position was growing momentarily more ridiculous, he ceased abruptly. Rough though he was and of the swash-buckler type, he was neither insensible to the humor of the situation nor to the nerve it had taken on Dick's part to hold twenty armed men at bay single-handed. It is usually a difficult matter to pocket one's pride, especially if one sees ridicule lurking just around the corner, but few men were capable of resisting the charm of Dick's personality for long.

"Come, Jim, be reasonable," he said, laying his hand familiarly on Blake's shoulder; "Bob Carlton saved my life once and now we're quits."

"He did? Well, that's the only good thing the sneakin' skunk ever done! Why didn't you tell us that before?"

"Because you didn't give me time. You would have hung him first and then listened to what I had to say afterwards."

"Hum!" ejaculated Blake, "I guess you're about right there."

"Boys," continued Dick, turning to the others, "I'm mighty sorry to have spoiled your fun, but I'll see that you don't regret your visit to Santa FÉ. Come into the house and I'll tell how it happened. The cigars and the drinks are on me!"

"Well, as I said before, Dick," exclaimed Blake, "you're the cussedest, most contrariest feller I ever seen. You got the best of us this time, but I guess we'll about get even with you on the drinks before we're through—won't we, boys?" and amid a chorus of laughter and good-humored exclamations, the men, followed by Dick and Blake, crowded into the house.

"What a country!" gasped Mrs. Forest after the last of them had disappeared. "Have people here nothing to do but murder one another?" she asked in a despairing voice, sniffing vigorously at the bottle of salts her maid handed her.

"Ze Saints be praised, zey do not!" cried the SeÑora who by this time had regained her composure. "Such a zing 'as happened nevair before."

"They are a little more free-handed out here than we are," remarked the Captain. "Where we come from, people allow a man to go free after exhausting all the resources of the law, while here, they quietly hang a scoundrel when they catch him without making any fuss about it. It's much simpler, you know."

"Beautiful!" echoed the Colonel.