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This the Mexican forced back, and an opening yawned in the side wall, the rays of the lantern revealing the interior of a black cave. Cateras stepped within. "Bring the woman," he commanded shortly, "and you, Merodez, see first to the light." Silva thrust her forward, his grip no light one, while the other struck a match and applied it to the wick of a lamp occupying a bracket beside the doorway.
Brennan's got him, and likewise the evidence to convict." "Good Lord! Is that so!" "It is; the whole Mendez gang has been wiped out. Old Mendez has been killed. The rest of the outfit, including Juan Cateras, are prisoners." Timmons's eyes were fairly popping out of his head, his voice a mere thread of sound. "Don't that beat hell!" he managed to articulate. "Where's the marshal?"
He either struck or kicked the man, hurrying the fellow down the passage to the echo of Spanish oaths. Apparently no resistance was made, for the next instant the key turned in the lock and the door opened. Cateras, smiling, seemingly unruffled by this encounter, stepped within, calmly closed the door behind him, and then turned to greet the lady.
I forgive Cateras for failure to report such a prize, but from now on will see that he takes his proper place. She was here when we came?" "No, señor; the two Americanos brought her; it was Silva and I who put her in the cell." "At Cateras's order?" "Yes, señor." "In what cell?" "The second in the passage; the man who was here when we came has the one this way."
There's a Mex who used to hang about here a couple of years ago they allers said belonged to Mendez's gang. His name is Cateras, a young feller, an' a hell ov a gambler. It just comes ter me that he was in the Red Dog three er four nights ago playin' monte. I didn't see him myself, but Joe Mapes said he was there, an' that makes it likely 'nough that Mendez isn't so blame far away."
Her delicate ears, strained under their spun-brown covering of hair there was no doubt of it; she heard footsteps in the passageway. Juan Cateras with his leering, lustful smile was coming back. The uncertainty was of scarcely an instant. The open slit above the door was a perfect conveyer of sound, and a voice pierced the silence. It was the voice of Juan Cateras, vibrant with anger.
"The man lies; he will keep no promise once we are in his power. Besides they have not yet found Cateras. When they do there will be no thought of mercy." "Then we fight it out?" "I shall; I will never give myself into the hands of that creature." "Señor," and Cavendish stepped aside to the protection of the logs, "we will not surrender. That is our answer."
Mendez, no doubt, was brute and monster, yet it was Juan Cateras whom she really feared he was cruel, slimy, seeking to hide his hatefulness behind that hideous smile; and he had already chosen her for his victim. Who would save her Mendez? Lacy?
"You mean your purpose is to aid me to escape?" He bowed low. "It would be my great happiness to do so. There is danger, yet what is danger to Juan Cateras? 'Tis only part of my life. The señorita is an American, and to her one of my race may not appeal, yet I would prove my devotion with my life." "Your devotion, señor!" "Is not the word expressive!
They were pressed back within the slight recess before the Mexican turned the corner, and she had hastily breathed her desperate scheme. "It can be done," she insisted, "and there is nought else possible. We dare not let him enter, and find Cateras, and to kill the man will serve no good end. You will not? Then give me the revolver. Good! Be silent now."
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