"No—not his—nobody's."
For a moment the adventurers understood each other.
"Not his," he muttered fiercely as he threw his arms about her wildly, passionately.
"Nobody's," she panted as she gave one answering caress, then struggled from him.
She had conquered not only Ramon Santos but Constance Dunlap.
Early the next morning he was speeding southward over the clicking rails.
Every energy must be bent toward keeping the new scheme secret until it was carried out successfully. Not a hint must get to Drummond that there was any change in the activities of the Junta. As for the Junta itself, there was no one of those who believed implicitly in Santos whom Constance need fear, except Gordon. Gordon was the bete noire.
Two days passed and she was able to guard the secret, as well as to act as though nothing had happened. Santos had left a short note for the Junta telling them that he would be away for a short time putting the finishing touches on the purchase of the arms. The arrival of a cartload of cases at the Junta, which Constance arranged for herself, bore out the letter. Still, she waited anxiously for word from him.
The day set for the sailing of the Arroyo arrived and with it at last a telegram: "Buy corn, oats, wheat. Sell cotton."
It was the code, telling of the safe arrival of the rifles, cartridges and the counterfeiting plant in New Orleans, a little late, but safe. "Sell cotton," meant "I sail to-night."