The earnest gaze, the passionate voice with its deep tremor drew
Dick upright, thrilling and eager, conscious of strange, unfamiliar
impetuosity.

"Thorne, I should say I was glad to be the fellow," replied Dick.

Their hands locked for a moment, and they sat down again with heads
close over the table.

"Listen," began Thorne, in low, swift whisper, "a few days, a week
ago--it seems like a year!--I was of some assistance to refugees
fleeing from Mexico into the States. They were all women, and one
of them was dressed as a nun. Quite by accident I saw her face.
It was that of a beautiful girl. I observed she kept aloof from
the others. I suspected a disguise, and, when opportunity afforded,
spoke to her, offered my services. She replied to my poor efforts at
Spanish in fluent English. She had fled in terror from her home,
some place down in Sinaloa. Rebels are active there. Her father
was captured and held for ransom. When the ransom was paid the
rebels killed him. The leader of these rebels was a bandit named
Rojas. Long before the revolution began he had been feared by people
of class--loved by the peons. Bandits are worshiped by the peons.
All of the famous bandits have robbed the rich and given to the poor.
Rojas saw the daughter, made off with her. But she contrived to
bribe her guards, and escaped almost immediately before any harm
befell her. She hid among friends. Rojas nearly tore down the
town in his efforts to find her. Then she disguised herself, and
traveled by horseback, stage, and train to Casita.

"Her story fascinated me, and that one fleeting glimpse I had of