"This way, señorita."
"Wait," and her eyes met his, showing no sign of fear. "You take me, I presume, to Señor Mendez?"
"Of what need?" in surprise. "He has already placed me in charge."
"Yet without hearing a word as to why I am here," indignantly. "I am an American woman, and you will yet pay dearly for this outrage. I demand an interview with the chief, and refuse to go with you until it is granted."
"You refuse! Ha!" and he burst into laughter. "Why, what power have you got, you little fool? Do you know where you are? What fear do we have of your damn Americanos. None!" and he snapped his fingers derisively. "We spit on the dogs. I will show you—come!"
He gripped her shoulder in his lean hand, his eyes glaring into her face savagely. The grasp hurt, and a sudden anger spurred her to action. With a quick twist she freed herself, and, scarcely knowing how it was done, snatched the heavy driver's whip from Moore's hand. The next instant, before the astounded Mexican could even throw up an arm in defence, the infuriated girl struck, the stinging lash raising a red welt across the swarthy cheek. Cateras staggered back, his lips giving utterance to a curse.
Again she struck, but this time his fingers gripped the leather, and tore it from her hands, with sufficient force to send her to her knees. With a spring forward the man had her in his grasp, all tiger now, the pretence at gentleness forgotten. He jerked her to her feet, with fingers clutching her neck mercilessly.
"Here, Silva, Merodez," he cried, "come take this spitfire. Caramba! we'll teach her."
Two men ran from between the huts and Cateras flung her, helpless from her choking, into their grasp.
"Take her within—no, there; the second door, you fools."