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Updated: June 20, 2025
He bowed over Alaire's cold fingers, then stood erect until she and Dolores had gone. That was a night of terror for the women. Although Longorio's discipline was in some ways strict, in others it was extremely lax. From some quarter his men had secured a supply of mescal, and, forgetful of Felipe's unhappy fate, they rendered the hours hideous.
After a time there sounded a murmur of voices, then a shuffling of feet in the hall; Alaire's friend, the old lieutenant, appeared in the doorway, saluting. Behind him were several others. "Here is Felipe," he announced. "Bring him in." A sullen, frowning man in soiled uniform was pushed forward, and Dolores hid her face against her mistress's shoulder. "Is this the fellow?" Longorio inquired.
I don't see anything of you, and haven't for years. Well, I was a fool to trust you." Alaire's eyes were very dark and very bright as she said: "I wonder how I have managed to live with you as long as I have. I knew you were weak, nasty so I was prepared for something like this. But I never thought you were a downright criminal until " "Criminal? Rot!" "How about that Guzman affair?
There began a noisy interchange of greetings between the occupants of the two trains, and meanwhile the hot sun glared balefully upon the huddled figures on the car tops. A half-hour passed, then occurred a commotion at the forward end of Alaire's coach. A group of officers climbed aboard, and among them was one who could be none other than Luis Longorio.
Dave had many times lived over those incidents at the water-hole, and for the life of him he could not credit the common stories of Alaire's coldness. To him, at least, she had appeared very human, and after they had once become acquainted she had been unaffected and friendly.
In the midst of the tumult Benito inquired for his wife, and Dave relieved his anxiety by calling Dolores and Father O'Malley. Then, in answer to the questions showered upon him, he swiftly sketched the story of Alaire's rescue and their flight from La Feria. When he had finished Blaze Jones drew a deep breath.
The general's official business waited upon Alaire's convenience, and to spare her the necessity of the short ride back to American soil he arranged for her an elaborate luncheon in his quarters. As on the day before, he assumed the privileges of a close friend, and treated his guest as a sort of fellow-conspirator working hand in hand with him for some holy cause.
But for some reason the words lay unspoken upon his tongue. Alaire's informal greeting, her parted lips, the welcoming light in her eyes, had sent them flying.
The courts will not punish Mr. Law." "Bah! Who cares for the courts? This man is a Gringo, and these are Gringo laws. But I am Mexican, and Panfilo was my cousin. We shall see." Alaire's eyes darkened. "Don't be rash, José," she exclaimed, warningly. "Mr. Law bears you no ill-will, but he is a dangerous man. You would do well to make some inquiries about him.
The awkwardness of the pause which followed Alaire's inquiry strengthened the rebellious impulses within him, and quite unconsciously his friendly grasp upon her fingers tightened. For her part, as she saw this sudden change sweep over him, her own face altered and she felt something within her breast leap into life.
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