senorita will come with me," he replied; but there was the temper of
steel in his words. For Snake le Vasquez, on the border, where human
life was lightly held, was known as the Slimy Viper. Of all the evil
men in that inferno, Snake was the foulest. Steeped in vice, he
feared neither God nor man, and respected no woman. And now, Estelle
St. Clair, drawing-room pet, pampered darling of New York society,
which she ruled with an iron hand from her father's Fifth Avenue
mansion, regretted bitterly that she had not given heed to honest
Buck Benson. Her prayers, threats, entreaties, were in vain. Despite
her struggles, the blows her small fists rained upon the scoundrel's
taunting face, she was borne across the border, on over the mesa,
toward the lair of the outlaw.

"Have you no mercy?" she cried again and again. "Can you not see
that I loathe and despise you, foul fiend that you are? Ah. God in
heaven, is there no help at hand?" The outlaw remained deaf to these
words that should have melted a heart of stone. At last over the
burning plain was seen the ruined hovel to which the scoundrel was
dragging his fair burden. It was but the work of a moment to
dismount and bear her half-fainting form within the den. There he
faced her, repellent with evil intentions.

"Ha, senorita, you are a beautiful wildcat, yes? But Snake le
Vasquez will tame you! Ha, ha!" laughed he carelessly.

With a swift movement the beautiful girl sought to withdraw the
small silver-mounted revolver without which she never left the
ranch. But Snake le Vasquez, with a muttered oath, was too quick for
her. He seized the toy and contemptuously hurled it across his vile
den.