Oriñez struck off ahead to scout for possible danger.
There was none. We hadn't gone five squares before we ran into panic-stricken rebels, and the firing-line was approaching on the jump.
Not wanting Mary to see the wounded men, and not caring to explain just then why I couldn't have waited an hour or two for my message, I took the back way.
We landed at the little ruined stone house before Saxton and Perez; they had much farther to travel.
"We must wait here," I told Mary.
"Must we?" she asked pitifully. "Can't we go on?"
"Now, my dear girl, see here," says I, in a fatherly manner, "after I've tried to do the best—"
"Yes, dear, yes—I'm ungrateful, I know." She cried a little. "But I've been such a fool! You're sure he isn't dangerously hurt?"
"Why, it may be," says I, with a wave of my hand, "that he's up and around! I don't know much about these things, you know. I'm scart easy."
Then she petted me and said I had a wise reason, she was sure, and if it was dangerous to go on, she wouldn't, and she'd be patient, and she was all worn out and she looked a fright, and what a fool she had been! And she cried some more.