"Oh, yes, I can, senorita. Don't fancy I've followed you all the way from Mexico to be baffled so easily. The Murillos are determined men. I have resolved that you shall be mine!"

"Never!"

"That word is easy to speak. What have I done that you should despise me?"

"You say the Murillos are determined men. They are, likewise, b.l.o.o.d.y men. I know not why my father favored you. I do know that my mother feared all Murillos, even as I fear you."

"It is good for a woman to have a husband whom she fears and respects."

"In this case fear and respect do not go together, senor. I have no respect for you."

"Then I will teach you respect when you are mine."

"That opportunity will never be given you. Look, senor, we stand at the edge of this cliff. The water is very close at hand. I wish you to understand me. Rather than become your wife, I'd leap into that water. I cannot swim."

"Leap!" he exclaimed. "I will leap after you, and I cannot swim!"

"Are you mad?"

"It is madness perhaps, senorita, but it is the madness of love. You must understand me now. You must understand how useless it is to fly from me. Once I thought you cared for another man. Once I was jealous of Emmanuel Escalvo. He never knew how close he walked with death. When I learned you did not care for him I put away my knife. There can be no others--unless you have met him within a few hours. I am satisfied that there is no other."

With sudden indiscretion and defiance, she exclaimed:

"You're wrong, Senor Murillo! There is another!"

He uttered a sudden curse.

"Who is the man? Tell me his name, and he shall have what Emmanuel Escalvo escaped!"

She was frightened by her folly.

"Who is the man?" he snarled, suddenly seizing her. "Speak quick--speak at once!"

"You hurt me, senor!" she panted, striving to break from his grasp. "Let me go!"

"I will not! I have you now, and I'll keep you! I'll never let you go!"

"I beg your pardon," said a quiet voice, "but I think you're mistaken."

Jose Murillo found himself sprawling on the ground. He looked up, and in the moonlight he saw Gregory Carker offering Juanita support.

"Oh, why deed you come?" panted the girl. "Now he weel know! He weel keel you!"

Snarling like an angry dog, Murillo leaped to his feet. The moonlight shimmered on a blade he had whipped from his bosom.

"This ees the man!" he panted triumphantly, as he sprang at Greg.

Carker flung up his arm, and Murillo's knife slashed his sleeve from shoulder to elbow.

In a twinkling Greg had closed with the Mexican, grasping the man's wrist and holding him in an effort to keep him from using the knife.

Juanita sought to interfere, but the cool, determined young American warned her back.

"Leave this man to me," he said.

"He has the knife!"

"But I don't think he'll use it," said Carker, as he backheeled Murillo.

In a moment they were down, twisting and squirming and writhing on the ground.

With her hands clasped, and her lips parted, Juanita looked on, standing ready to do her best should she see Murillo free his knife hand.

Carker had once been an athlete. He was not now in the best condition, but, nevertheless, he was stronger than his foe, and he finally pinned Murillo to the ground.

"Drop that knife!" commanded Greg, seeking to force the weapon from the Mexican's fingers.

In this attempt he had almost succeeded, when of a sudden Murillo squirmed away, rolled over and over and scrambled up.

Carker rose on the brink of the cliff and again faced the man. Murillo came at him with a leap, making a savage slash with the knife. Carker dodged just in time and thrust out his foot. Over that outthrust foot the Mexican tripped. Straight forward he plunged, with a cry and a splash, into the water below.

"Perhaps a cold bath will do him good," observed Carker, breathing a trifle heavily.

Juanita seemed ready to faint.

"Oh, senor, you are the brave man!" she breathed. "Oh, my heart eet beat so for you! I have such a terrible fear that he would keel you!"

Carker felt a strange thrill that ran over him from head to feet.

"Would you have cared so much?" he asked hoa.r.s.ely.

"Eet would have keeled me, too, senor!" she answered. "The lake--I should have leaped into eet! Like Murillo, I cannot swim."

"Like Murillo, eh?" exclaimed Greg. "Then the fellow can't swim? Well, I think it's up to me to pull him out."

He stripped off his coat, ran some distance away to a point where he could descend to the water's edge and made his way along the foot of the little bluff. Peering into the shadows, he called in vain to the Mexican.

Out beyond the point where the cliff shadow lay on the water there were tiny shimmering waves, but in that shadow he could see nothing.

"I'm afraid this is rather a serious matter for Jose Murillo," he muttered. "Had I realized the scoundrel couldn't swim, I'd followed him into the lake and pulled him out. I take it he's gone."

Juanita called to him from above:

"Can't you see him, Senor Carkaire?"

"Don't be alarmed, Juanita," he answered. "I'm coming back there. I'll be with you in a moment."

He took one last look in search of the Mexican.