his terrible henchman, Texas Smith, with their rifles and revolvers. Old
Garcia perspired with anguish as he looked over his caravan, and figured
up the cost in his head.

Thurstane, wretched at heart, but with a cheering smile on his lips, came
to bid the ladies farewell.

"What do you think of this?" Aunt Maria called to him from her seat in one
of the covered wagons. "We are going a thousand miles through deserts and
savages. You men suppose that women have no courage. I call this heroism."

"Certainly," nodded the young fellow, not thinking of her at all, unless
it was that she was next door to an idiot.

Although his mind was so full of Clara that it did not seem as if he could
receive an impression from any other human being, his attention was for a
moment arrested by a countenance which struck him as being more ferocious
than he had ever seen before except on the shoulders of an Apache. A tall
man in Mexican costume, with a scar on his chin and another on his cheek,
was glaring at him with two intensely black and savage eyes. It was Texas
Smith, taking the measure of Thurstane's fighting power and disposition. A
hint from Coronado had warned the borderer that here was a person whom it
might be necessary some day to get rid of. The officer responded to this
ferocious gaze with a grim, imperious stare, such as one is apt to acquire
amid the responsibilities and dangers of army life. It was like a wolf and
a mastiff surveying each other.

Thurstane advanced to Clara, helped her into her saddle, and held her hand
while he urged her to be careful of herself, never to wander from the
train, never to be alone, etc. The girl turned a little pale; it was not