"You may lose yourself, or be struck down by the knife of some murderous _ladrone_," he objected. "Not he," reassured Pike. "I'd back him to out-wrestle a panther." "What is more, I carry one of my pistols," I added. "So if, between you, my guitar case will not prove too much of a burden--" "_Sacre!_" muttered Walker. "You may fall into trouble." "That's my risk," I replied with unaffected cheerfulness, and handing the guitar case to my friend, I swung away up a side street before our _dueno_ could interpose further objections. As I sped along in the shadow of the houses, I could have leaped up and cracked my heels together for joy. I was alone and free for the first time since joining company with the two Yutahs in the valley north of Agua Caliente. But my coltish impulse was short-lived. I had not questioned and planned for the last hour, to caper about in solitary darkness now. The street up which I had bolted did not lead in the direction in which I wished to go. This was soon mended by turning at the first corner. The towers of the _Parroquia_, looming high against the starlit sky, guided me to the plaza. I then needed only to skirt edge of the square to come to the street corner upon which stood the great mansion of Don Pedro. More than once on my way I had heard the long-drawn notes of serenaders, and the thought that there might already be one beneath my lady's balcony hurried me into a run. But when, mindful of the counsel of the complacent Medina, I slipped into a shadowy archway across from the stone _facade_ of the Vallois mansion, I could hear no music within two or three hundred paces. This surprised me not a little, and I stood for some moments wondering at it, for my brief stay in Chihuahua had already confirmed all that Dona Dolores had written to Malgares as to the great popularity of Alisanda. It was, however, no time to ponder mysteries. Whatever reasons her other suitors might have for staying away, I was here to woo her, and woo her I would. I keyed my strings, and with my gaze roving from one to the other of the balconied windows across, began to sing that love ditty I had sung beneath my lady's window at Natchez. The first verse brought me no response. Every balcony remained empty, every window gaped black between its open hangings. After a short interval I sang the second verse. But though I stared at the dim, ghostly outlines of the white stone mansion until my eyes ached, I saw no sign of my lady. It then occurred to me that her chamber might face upon the side street. I stepped out from my dark archway, to walk around. But as I crossed over I could not resist gazing up at the nearest balcony and whispering her dear name: "Alisanda! Alisanda! It is I--John."