Gale then divined something of the suffering Thorne had undergone --something of the hot, wild, vengeful passion of a lover who must have brutal truth.
It stilled ****'s lighter mood, and he was about to reply when Mercedes pressed close to him, touched his hands, looked up into his face with wonderful eyes. He thought he would not soon forget their beauty--the shadow of pain that had been, the hope dawning so fugitively.
"Dear lady," said Gale, with voice not wholly steady, "Rojas himself will hound you no more to-night, nor for many nights."
She seemed to shake, to thrill, to rise with the intelligence.
She pressed his hand close over her heaving breast. Gale felt the quick throb of her heart.
"Senor! Senor ****!" she cried. Then her voice failed. But her hands flew up; quick as a flash she raised her face--kissed him. Then she turned and with a sob fell into Thorne's arms.
There ensued a silence broken only by Mercedes' sobbing. Gale walked some paces away. If he were not stunned, he certainly was agitated. the strange, sweet fire of that girl's lips remained with him. On the spur of the moment he imagined he had a jealousy of Thorne. But presently this passed. It was only that he had been deeply moved--stirred to the depths during the last hour--had become conscious of the awakening of a spirit. What remained with him now was the splendid glow of gladness that he had been of service to Thorne. And by the intensity of Mercedes' abandon of relief and gratitude he measured her agony of terror and the fate he had spared her.
"****, ****, come here!" called Thorne softly. "Let's pull ourselves together now. We've got a problem yet. What to do? Where to go?
How to get any place? We don't dare risk the station--the corrals where Mexicans hire out horses. We're on gold old U.S. ground this minute, but we're not out of danger."
As he paused, evidently hoping for a suggestion from Gale, the silence was broken by the clear, ringing peal of a bugle. Thorne gave a violent start. Then he bent over, listening. The beautiful notes of the bugle floated out of the darkness, clearer, sharper, faster.
"It's a call, ****! It's a call!" he cried.
Gale had no answer to make. Mercedes stood as if stricken. The bugle call ended. From a distance another faintly pealed. There were other sounds too remote to recognize. Then scattering shots rattled out.
"****, the rebels are fighting somebody," burst out Thorne, excitedly. "The little federal garrison still holds its stand. Perhaps it is attacked again. Anyway, there's something doing over the line. Maybe the crazy Greasers are firing on our camp. We've feared it--in the dark....And here I am, away without leave--practically a deserter!"
"Go back! Go back, before you're too late!" cried Mercedes.
"Better make tracks, Thorne," added Gale. "It can't help our predicament for you to be arrested. I'll take care of Mercedes."
"No, no, no," replied Thorne. "I can get away--avoid arrest."
"That'd be all right for the immediate present. But it's not best for the future. George, a deserter is a deserter!...Better hurry.
Leave the girl to me till tomorrow."
Mercedes embraced her lover, begged him to go. Thorne wavered.
"****, I'm up against it," he said. "You're right. If only I can get back in time. but, oh, I hate to leave her! Old fellow, you've saved her! I already owe you everlasting gratitude. Keep out of Casita, ****. The U.S. side might be safe, but I'm afraid to trust it at night. Go out in the desert, up in the mountains, in some safe place. Then come to me in camp. We'll plan. I'll have to confide in Colonel Weede. Maybe he'll help us. Hide her from the rebels--that's all."
He wrung ****'s hand, clasped Mercedes tightly in his arms, kissed her, and murmured low over her, then released her to rush off into the darkness. He disappeared in the gloom. The sound of his dull footfalls gradually died away.
For a moment the desert silence oppressed Gale. He was unaccustomed to such strange stillness. There was a low stir of sand, a rustle of stiff leaves in the wind. How white the stars burned! Then a coyote barked, to be bayed by a dog. Gale realized that he was between the edge of an unknown desert and the edge of a hostile town.
He had to choose the desert, because, though he had no doubt that in Casita there were many Americans who might befriend him, he could not chance the risks of seeking them at night.
He felt a slight touch on his arm, felt it move down, felt Mercedes slip a trembling cold little hand into his. **** looked at her.
She seemed a white-faced girl now, with staring, frightened black eyes that flashed up at him. If the loneliness, the silence, the desert, the unknown dangers of the night affected him, what must they be to this hunted, driven girl? Gale's heart swelled. He was alone with her. He had no weapon, no money, no food, no drink, no covering, nothing except his two hands. He had absolutely no knowledge of the desert, of the direction or whereabouts of the boundary line between the republics; he did not know where to find the railroad, or any road or trail, or whether or not there were towns near or far. It was a critical, desperate situation. He thought first of the girl, and groaned in spirit, prayed that it would be given him to save her. When he remembered himself it was with the stunning consciousness that he could conceive of no situation which he would have exchanged for this one--where fortune had set him a perilous task of loyalty to a friend, to a helpless girl.
"Senor, senor!" suddenly whispered Mercedes, clinging to him.
"Listen! I hear horses coming!"
