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The cold, grim, wild something about her cowboys blanched Madeline's face, steeled her nerve, called to the depths of her for that last supreme courage of a woman. The spirit of the moment was nature with Link and Nels; with her it must be passion. "Can I get a permit to go into the interior to Mezquital?" asked Madeline of the officer. "You are going on? Madam, it's a forlorn hope.
"Why, these mean Stewart's release has been authorized. They explain mysterious rumors we have heard here. Greaser treachery! For some strange reason messages from the rebel junta have failed to reach their destination. We heard reports of an exchange for Stewart, but nothing came of it. No one departed for Mezquital with authority. What an outrage!
But to save time, perhaps delay, I suggest you take this Mexican, Senor Montes, with you. He outranks Don Carlos and knows the captain of the Mezquital detachment." "Ah! Then Don Carlos is not in command of the forces holding Stewart?" "No." "I thank you, sir. I shall not forget your kindness," concluded Madeline. She bowed to Senor Montes, and requested him to enter the car.
This guerrilla intercepted the orders, and then was instrumental in taking Stewart to Mezquital. It is exceedingly sad. Why, he should be a free man this instant. I regret " "Who did this this thing?" cried Madeline, cold and sick. "Who is the guerrilla?" "Senor Don Carlos Martinez. He has been a bandit, a man of influence in Sonora.
Because of his disregard of self he was able to operate the machine, to choose the power, the speed, the guidance, the going with the best judgment and highest efficiency possible. Madeline knew he would get her to Mezquital in time to save Stewart or he would kill her in the attempt. The white, narrow road flashed out of the foreground, slipped with inconceivable rapidity under the car.
There were horses, mules, burros, and oxen. The place was so crowded that Link was compelled to drive slowly up to the entrance to the bull-ring. Madeline caught a glimpse of tents inside, then her view was obstructed by a curious, pressing throng. The cavalry officer leaped from the car and pushed his way into the entrance. "Link, do you know the road to this Mezquital?" asked Madeline. "Yes.
The guerrillas feared to execute him here, and believed he might be aided to escape. So a detachment departed with him for Mezquital." "He was sentenced to be shot Thursday at sunset to-night?" "Yes. It was rumored there was a personal resentment against Stewart. I regret that I can't give you definite information. If you are friends of Stewart relatives I might find "
Long, slender arms of the ocotillo encroached upon the road; broad, round leaves did likewise; fluted columns, fallen like timbers in a forest, lay along the narrow margins; the bayonet cactus and the bisnagi leaned threateningly; clusters of maguey, shadowed by the huge, looming saguaro, infringed upon the highway to Mezquital.
Mezquital is a hundred miles away. But there's a chance the barest chance if your man can drive this car. The Mexicans are either murderous or ceremonious in their executions. The arrangements for Stewart's will be elaborate. But, barring unusual circumstances, it will take place precisely at the hour designated. You need no permit. Your messages are official papers.
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