"For beyond is a dry hell for us, and on the other side the Deliverer is circled by enemy fighters who would trap him in his own land. He lies hid like a fox in the hills waiting for this you bring. Water must not fail, and mules must not fail; for that am I here to give the word for haste."
"But even forty mule loads will not serve him long," said Kit doubtfully.
"Like a fox in the hills I tell you, Señor Capitan,--and only one way into the den! Beyond the enemy he has other supplies safe--this is to fight his way to it. After that he will go like a blaze through dry meadows of zacatan."
Kit would have made camp there for the night, but Chappo protested.
"No, señor! Every drop in the sand here is for the mules of the army. It is not my word, it is the word of my general. Four hours north you will find Little Coyote well. One day more and at the crossing of Rio Seco, water will be waiting from the cold wells of La Partida. It is so arrange, señor, and the safe trail is made for you and for excellencia, the señora. In God's name, take all your own, and go in peace!"
"But the señora is weary to death, and----"
"That is true, Capitan," spoke Doña Jocasta, who drooped in the saddle like a wilted flower. "But the señora will not die, and if she does it is not so much loss as the smallest of the soldiers of El Gavilan. We will go on, and go quickly, see!--there is yet water in the cantin, and four hours of trail is soon over."
Ugly Chappo came shyly forward and, uncovered, touched the hem of her skirt to his lips.
"The high heart of the excellencia gives life to the men who fight," he said and thrust his hand in a pocket fastened to his belt. "This is to you from the Deliverer, señora. His message is that it brought to him the lucky trail, and he would wish the same to the Doña Jocasta Perez."
It was the little cross, once sent back to her by a peon in bitterness of soul, and now sent by a general of Mexico with the blessing of a soldier.
"Tell him Jocasta takes it as a gift of God, and his name is in her prayers," she said and turned away.
Clodomiro pushed forward,--a very different Clodomiro, for the fluttering bands of color were gone from his arms and his hair--the heart of the would-be bridegroom was no longer his. He was stripped as for the trail or for war, and fastened to his saddle was the gun and ammunition he had won from Cavayso who had gone quickly onward with his detachment of the pack.
