“Very well, we are going on, right now, to be married in San Carlos.”
“Oh, but—”
“No ‘buts.’ We’ll take no more chances.”
She hesitated and—gave in. “Oh, isn’t it nice to have some one decide for you?”
Had the arriero been consulted he could have told a tale. But Gordon quite believed it. He was raising her face to his when her eyes distended with a sudden sorrow.
“Oh, poor Ramon! Whatever are we thinking of?”
Shocked at her own thoughtlessness, she turned. But the arriero had finished his packing, now stood beside Ramon. His shake of the head sent her back into Gordon’s arms, and as she sobbed on his shoulder the arriero took affairs into his own capable hands.
“I shall take him home to the old señor, with this wicked one, and tell him that he died in defense of thee.”
With the most careful planning, it could not have been managed better. “They will never—know,” she sobbed, more quietly. “And—at the end—he was sorry.”