"
"Laddy, what knocks me is Rojas holding Thorne prisoner, trying
to make him tell where Mercedes had been hidden," said Belding.
"Shore. It 'd knock anybody."
"The bandit's crazy over her. That's the Spanish of it," replied
Belding, his voice rolling. "Rojas is a peon. He's been a slave
to the proud Castilian. He loves Mercedes as he hates her. When
I was down in Durango I saw something of these peons' insane
passions. Rojas wants this girl only to have her, then kill her.
It's damn strange, boys, and even with Thorne here our troubles
have just begun."
"Tom, you spoke correct," said Jim Ladd, in his cool drawl.
"Shore I'm not sayin' what I think," added Ladd. But the look
of him was not indicative of a tranquil optimism.
Thorne was put to bed in Gale's room. He was very weak, yet he
would keep Mercedes's hand and gaze at her with unbelieving eyes.
Mercedes's failing hold on hope and strength seemed to have been
a fantasy; she was again vivid, magnetic, beautiful, shot through
and through with intense and throbbing life. She induced him to
take food and drink. Then, fighting sleep with what little strength
he had left, at last he succumbed.
For all Dick could ascertain his friend never stirred an eyelash nor
a finger for twenty-seven hours. When he awoke he was pale, weak,
but the old Thorne.
"Hello, Dick; I didn't dream it then," he said. "There you are, and
my darling with the proud, dark eyes--she's here?"
"Why, yes, you locoed cavalryman.
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