BEYOND the oleanders a tall thick hedge of cypress favored the flight of the fugitive. At the end of the gardens Tia Teresa took a little path that dipped into the river bed, and when they ascended again out of the hollow, Dick found himself quite close to the grove where Pierre was in hiding with the ponies.

By this time the young fellow was angry with himself for having fled so precipitately. He was full of solicitude for Merle. Why had not he remained to defend her from the brutality of that ruffian, Ben Thurston? This was the question that was now making him both ashamed and anxious.

“Hush!”

The caution came from Pierre, and showed that the Frenchman was alive to what had happened.

“I saw ze automobile rush by,” he whispered. “We will ride across country, so zat it cannot follow us.” He pointed in the direction he would go.

“Not yet,” replied Dick, determinedly. “I’m off back to the house to see that they are all safe there.”

“No, no, Mr. Willoughby,” protested the duenna earnestly. “You heard what Miss Merle said—she is afraid of that raging old man. Besides I know. He has vowed that he and his hired gunmen will shoot you on sight. For my little girl’s sake you must not go back,” she implored.

“Besides your word of honor is pledged to me,” added Luzon. “You must return wiz me. I have your parole.”

“Parole be hanged,” muttered Dick between his teeth.

The old Frenchman laid a kindly hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“No, no. Monsieur is a man of honor. And honor comes before love—always.”

“If you love her,” insisted Tia Teresa, “you will save yourself tonight. We will look after her. You need not worry on her account.”

Dick for the moment was silenced, but unconvinced.

“Well, at all events we’ll wait a bit. I don’t leave this spot till I’m sure that Ben Thurston himself has cleared.”

“All right,” assented Pierre. “Stay where you are, Tia Teresa. You must not be seen. Zey may be searching in ze gardens.”

Even as he spoke there was the flash of a lantern among the rose bushes.

In tense silence they waited and watched. The leaden-winged minutes stole on. For a time lights flitted about, then vanished. At last came the “honk-honk” of the automobile, and a minute later the great machine with its flaring headlights swept down the roadway. They could just see that it was crowded with men. Then in a few seconds it had disappeared around the bend.

“Now we go,” said Pierre.

“Just a minute longer, please,” replied Dick in a firm tone. “Tia Teresa, you slip back to the house. I will stay here till you bring me word from Merle that she is safe and that all is well.”

“I will soon return,” said the duenna as she hurried away on her mission.

Again an interval of high-tensioned waiting. Neither Dick nor Pierre spoke a word. At last there came a rustle of the bushes from the direction of the river bed, and a moment later Tia Teresa was again by their side.

“Mr. Willoughby,” she said, breathless from the speed she had made, “Miss Merle begs you to make good your escape. She is well, and happy because you are safe. She sends this rose and”—the old lady hesitated a moment—“her love.”

“She said that?” murmured Dick, tremblingly, as he took the white blossom and breathed its fragrance.

“Well, does not the flower speak her love?” replied the duenna. “Now go, go.”

“Come,” said Pierre, as he raised himself into the saddle. “We shall fix the blindfold later on.” Dick furtively kissed the rose before he placed it in the breast pocket of his coat. Then he mounted, and, bringing his pony alongside of Pierre’s, started off at a canter across the starlit plain.

Ben Thurston did not feel inclined to sleep that night. He paced his sitting room like an angry bear, and kept Leach Sharkey out of bed to listen to his growls and threatenings.

“By God, I’ll have that girl shoved into jail. Harboring an outlaw! It’s a criminal offence.”

“You can’t do it,” objected the sleuth.

“Can’t do it?” shouted Thurston, halting and glowering down upon the man who had dared to contradict him. “You’ll see damned quick if I can’t.”

“Not one of us could swear that Willoughby was there. Neither you nor I could. We never saw him.”

“He wore that disguise,” thundered Thurston. “So you think. But thinking ain’t proof—not by a long chalk.”

Thurston was now almost speechless from rage. Half articulate words of blasphemy were upon his stuttering lips. But Sharkey went coolly on.

“Besides the sympathy of everyone would be with the girl. You can’t succeed that way. You yourself would be covered with ridicule.”

At last the torrent of curses broke forth. “Damn you, Leach Sharkey! That’s what I pay you for, is it? To let that scoundrel slip through our very fingers? And you had the nerve to ask me for another big check this evening. It’s all a confounded plot. You’re bleeding me. Leach is your name, and leech is your nature.” Leach Sharkey rose to his feet. His white teeth gleamed as his short upper lip curled in a contemptuous smile. He raised a threatening finger. It was his turn now to give free vent to profanity.

“Stop right there, you doggoned old fool. I bleed you, do I? Well, take my resignation. All your pay ain’t worth another five minutes of your infernal temper. No man ever dared to browbeat me and insult me as you have done. And now you may go to hell—where you belong.”

The sleuth turned on his heel, and strode to the doorway. But Thurston was after him in an instant, penitent, trembling, ashen pale. He grabbed Sharkey by the coat sleeve.

“No, no, don’t go, I beg of you,” he whined, “I was wrong. I spoke in anger. I apologize. Good God, some one or other will get me within an hour if you leave me unprotected. I haven’t a single friend—no one to stand by me.” There was craven fear in his eyes as he looked timidly around. “I hear the prowling footsteps of my enemies in the night. You alone can save me, Mr. Sharkey.”

“Your damned civility comes too late,” replied the sleuth, as he shook the clutching hands from his shoulder.

“No, no. Don’t say that. Sit down again. See, here is my check book. I’ll pay you that money now—I’ll double the amount—I’ll never haggle with you again. Stay with me till we go East together.”

Sharkey showed himself somewhat mollified. He had played his game well, for after all, cash with him was the main consideration. So smiling over the success of his bluff, he watched the unnerved coward as he tottered to his desk, dropped into a chair and drew the check with slow and painful effort, and then returned with it between his still trembling fingers.

“You’ll stand by me, Mr. Sharkey, won’t you?”

“Well, no more of that nonsense,” was the curt reply, as the sleuth glanced at the slip of paper, then thrust it in his waistcoat pocket.

To Thurston the reconciliation brought instant relief. He drew himself up; he rubbed his hands; he even attempted a smile.

“That’s a good fellow, Sharkey. You know I’ve always held you in high esteem. And we’ll get that man yet”—the glare of vindictiveness was again in his eyes, the rasp of accustomed irritability was returning to his voice. “We’ll get him, I say, even if it costs double the money I’ve already spent. And that devil of a girl, too—I hate her more than ever now. She’ll pay for her insults tonight with her lover’s life. Remember, Sharkey, no more chances. When you get the scoundrel within gunshot, it’s up to you to shoot. That will be best in any case. It will save the cost of a judge and jury. You understand me?”

“I understand,” nodded Sharkey. “Then, as you’re speaking about doubling. Mr. Thurston, I suppose that ten-thousand-dollar reward coming to me goes up to twenty thousand.”

“Yes; twenty thousand if you shoot him like a dog, and let me get away from this damned place. I have come to loathe the very name of it. Well, spread your cot now across my door. I’ll try to get an hour’s sleep. Good night.”

And Ben Thurston disappeared into the inner room.