"Very well," said Grahame. "That clears the ground; but we must talk it over together."

"Thanks," Carson said coolly. "I'm not pressed for time--and I notice that you have been cooking. I wonder if I might ask for some supper?"

"All we have is at your service, senor," Blanca answered with Spanish politeness. "But we'd better put out the light."

She extinguished the lamp, and they gathered round the cooking pot, the men sitting on the earth floor with the red glow of the burning charcoal on their faces. It could not be seen many yards away, and Grahame's view commanded the path to the door. Blanca divided the omelette she had made, and afterward gave them some black coffee and a bundle of cigarettes.

"These are Habaneros and should be good," she said. "As they belong to a friend of the President's we need not hesitate about using them."

She sat down beside Walthew, and they smoked in silence for a while.

Blanca was studying Carson's face as it was lighted by the glow from the charcoal.

"Why did you help Altiera?" she asked him suddenly.

"Commercial interest. He has given us one or two trading privileges. And he seemed to think I had a pretty good chance of getting through."

"Do you know what his orders to Gomez were?"

Grahame had wondered when she meant to ask this, and had left it to her, feeling that she was more likely to catch the messenger off his guard.

Carson laughed.

"Honestly, I don't know; Altiera isn't the man to take an outsider into his confidence."

"Still, you know something."

"Well," Carson said quietly, "I'm sorry I must refuse to tell you my surmises. No doubt you'll understand my obstinacy."

"Aren't you rash, senor?" Blanca asked in a meaning tone.

"On the whole, I think not. Of course, I'm in your hands, but as I've promised not to give you away, I expect these gentlemen won't take an unfair advantage of me. Then, from what I know about Don Martin, I feel that I can trust his daughter."

Blanca smiled.

"Well," she said, "I suppose we must let you go. You are at liberty to leave us when you wish."

Grahame and Walthew agreed, and Carson shook hands with them.

"It's evident that your only reason for stopping near Rio Frio is that Miss Sarmiento finds it impossible to walk any farther," he remarked.

"She's welcome to my mule. Gomez requisitioned it from a man called Silva, who's suspected of sympathizing with your party. I believe I know where to find another animal."

They thanked him and let him go; and soon after he vanished into the darkness, Blanca mounted the mule and they set off again.

Pushing on until dawn, they found a small, deserted _hacienda_ standing back from the road, and as tall forest grew close up to it, offering a line of retreat, they decided to rest there. The mule looked jaded.

Blanca admitted that she could not go much farther, and Walthew was obviously worn out. They could find nothing to eat; but there was some furniture in the house, and Blanca found a place to sleep in one of the rooms, while the men lay down on a rug outside. The sun was now rising above the high cordillera and, wet with the dew as they were, they enjoyed the warmth. A few lizards crept about the wall in front of them, and an archway near by commanded a view of the road. The building was in good order, and had apparently been abandoned on the approach of the President's soldiers.

"These people know what to expect; they must have been ready to light out," Walthew remarked. "I rather liked that fellow Carson, but it's curious he didn't ask us anything about our business."

"He'd take it for granted that we had an active part in the revolution."

"No doubt the senorita's being with us would suggest something of the kind, but he seemed surprised at first," Walthew replied with a thoughtful air. "For all that, I can't quite see----"

"No," said Grahame; "I don't think you altogether understand the situation yet. I suppose you mean to marry Miss Sarmiento?"

"Certainly, if she'll have me," Walthew answered with firmness, though he looked at his comrade as if he expected something more.

Grahame smiled.

"Then you're to be congratulated, because you won't have much trouble in getting your wish."

"What do you mean?" Walthew's tone was sharp, but he remembered an incident during his escape from the town. "I'll admit I wasn't quite hopeless, but we were both in danger----"

He broke off, and Grahame regarded him with a friendly laugh.

"You're modest--and you're more ignorant of Spanish customs than I thought. However, I'd better explain, so you'll know how Don Martin will look at it. To begin with, a well-brought-up girl is never permitted to meet a man unless she is suitably escorted by an older member of the family, and you have been wandering about with Miss Sarmiento for two or three days. Now you can understand why Carson was surprised, and I noticed he was uncertain how to address Miss Sarmiento at first. She noticed his hesitation, though you did not."

For some moments Walthew was silent, his brows knitted.

"No, I never thought of it," he admitted. "But we'll say no more about it until I've seen Don Martin. Besides, there's another matter. A fellow who joined us at the lagoon gave me a letter for you. Sorry I forgot it until now, but I had a good deal to think about."

"I don't suppose it's important," Grahame replied, and lighted a cigarette before opening the envelope with an English stamp.

Then his expression changed, and a few moments afterward he let the letter drop and sat very still. The cigarette went out, the hot sun shone upon his uncovered head, and a lizard ran across his leg; but he did not move. He seemed lost in thought. Walthew, watching with puzzled sympathy, waited for him to speak.

"This letter has been a long time on the way," he explained at last. "It probably had to wait at our Havana address, and then Don Martin's people had no opportunity to deliver it."

"But what's the news?" Walthew asked.

Grahame answered with a strained laugh.

"In a sense, it's rather a grim joke. While I've been risking my life for a few dollars' profit on smuggled guns, and practicing the sternest self-denial, it seems I've been the owner of an old Border estate."

"Ah!" said Walthew. "Then Calder Hall now belongs to you?"

"What do you know about Calder Hall?"

"I've known all about it for some time, and I'm very glad. But I understand that you didn't expect to inherit the estate."

"No; it seemed impossible. I won't trouble you with family particulars, but two deaths have occurred in a very short time. The last owner was no older than I am and married, but his only child is a girl, and he was killed while hunting. Although he was my cousin, I've rarely seen him."

He was silent again for some minutes, his mind busy with alluring visions. He had long struggled with poverty, and had wandered about the world engaging in reckless adventures, but he had inherited a love for the old home of his race; and now it was his. But this, while counting for much, was not the main thing. He had been strongly attracted by Evelyn Cliffe, but, recognizing his disadvantages, he had tried hard to hold in check the love for her which grew in spite of him. The obstacles that had bulked so large were now removed. He was free to win her if he could, and it was comforting to remember that in her urgent need she had sent for him. But he had work to finish first.

"I suppose you mean to start home as soon as you can?" Walthew suggested.

"No," Grahame answered quietly, "I'm not going yet. For one thing, we have taken Don Martin's money, and now that he has to meet a crisis we can't leave him in the lurch. Besides, one day at San Lucar, we promised some of the leaders of the movement that we'd see them through."

It was a good reason. Grahame was not the man to do a shabby thing, but Walthew, remembering that Evelyn was with the rebels, thought his comrade had a stronger motive for staying.