But
the shots, Dick--were they at you? They paralyzed me. Then the
yells. What happened? Those guards of Rojas ran round in front
at the first shot. Tell me what happened."
"While I was rushing Rojas a couple of cowboys shot out the lamplights.
A Mexican who pulled a knife on me got hurt, I guess. Then I think
there was some shooting from the rebels after the room was dark."
"Rushing Rojas?" queried Thorne, leaning close to Dick. His voice
was thrilling, exultant, deep with a joy that yet needed confirmation.
"What did you do to him?"
"I handed him one off side, tackled, then tried a forward pass,"
replied Dick, lightly speaking the football vernacular so familiar
to Thorne.
Thorne leaned closer, his fine face showing fierce and corded in
the starlight. "Tell me straight," he demanded, in thick voice.
Gale then divined something of the suffering Thorne had undergone
--something of the hot, wild, vengeful passion of a lover who must
have brutal truth.
It stilled Dick's lighter mood, and he was about to reply when
Mercedes pressed close to him, touched his hands, looked up into
his face with wonderful eyes. He thought he would not soon forget
their beauty--the shadow of pain that had been, the hope dawning
so fugitively.
"Dear lady," said Gale, with voice not wholly steady, "Rojas himself
will hound you no more to-night, nor for many nights."
She seemed to shake, to thrill, to rise with the intelligence.
She pressed his hand close over her heaving breast.
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