An hour later, baffled, puzzled, balked in his precious hopes, Mr. Adriance returned to the bivouac of his little command. Major Sherrick had promptly and fully confirmed the statement of his clerk. It was he who told Mr. Staines to employ a ranchman to ride by night to Captain Rawlins, and the mysterious caution that surrounded the proceedings was explained by the fact that Pedro had refused his permission and that Leon had to be bribed to disobey the paternal order. Adriance was dissatisfied and suspicious, but what was there left for him to say?
Then he had hastened to the summer house, and waited a whole hour, but there came no Isabel. It was nearly 10 o'clock when he turned his horse over to the care of the guard in a little clump of cottonwoods near the Gila.
“We remain here to-morrow,” he briefly told the sergeant. “No need to wake the men before 6.” With that he went to the little wall tent, pitched for his use some yards away.
How long he slumbered Adriance could not tell. Ill at ease as to the strange conduct of Staines, he had not slept well. Conscience, too, was smiting him. Something in the tones of that girlish voice thrilled and quivered through his memory. What right had he even to ask her to meet him? What wrong had he not wrought in that one kiss?
Somebody was fumbling at the fastening of the tent flap.
“What is wanted, sergeant?” he quickly hailed.
“Open, quick!” was the low-toned answer. “Come to the door. No, no, bring no light,” was the breathless caution, as he struck a match.
“Who is this?” he demanded, with strange thrill at heart—something in those tones he well knew—yet it could not be. A dim figure in shrouding serape was crouching at the front tent pole as he threw open the flap.
“Good God! Isabel!”
“Si—— Yes. Hush, senor, no one must hear, no one must know 'twas I. Quick! Wake your men! Saddle! Ride hard till you catch the paymaster! Never leave him till you are beyond Canyon del Muerto, and then never come to the rancho again—never!”