Clara sighed and quickened her pace. They left the road and struck across country toward the arroyo. "I don't believe they're troops," she said. "There aren't enough of them. Oh, Henry, suppose it's Angel Gonzales and his men!" Hard shrugged his shoulders. "They may very well be," he said. "But we'll hope they're not. Let's be optimistic as long as we have a straw to clutch." Clara did not answer. She took another look at the rapidly advancing line and felt, not unreasonably, that the straw was a weak one even for the clutch of an optimist. They dug in, weary as they were, making small progress, but with hopeful eyes bent upon the distant arroyo. At least they were going in a different direction from the riders. Hard limped painfully. His face was set in lines of determination--or was it pain? Clara wondered. She stopped suddenly. "Henry," she said, firmly, "this is folly. Those men must have seen us. They're able to overtake us if they want to, and if they want to do anything to us, they will. We can't help ourselves. I'm not going another step. I'm going to sit down here and see what happens." As she spoke, she sat down on a tree stump. Hard laughed ruefully. "Well, I suppose you're right," he said. "They've got us, if they want us. We'll hope they don't." He sat down on the ground beside her, feeling very much as though he would never get up again. So far the horsemen had given no indication of having seen the fugitives. They were fox-trotting along, in twos and threes, for the road was fairly wide. There was no air of discipline about the party, nothing to indicate that it was of a military character. As they came opposite the fugitives, who had struck off the road at a right angle, they stopped, in obedience to a signal from one of the two riding ahead. "They've seen us!" breathed Clara. "And are wondering whether we're worth while," supplemented Hard. "Ah, here they come!" The result of the conference reached, the two leaders of the party followed by half a dozen men struck off toward Clara and Hard. The others waited in the road. They came at a good gait, their badly fed horses responding to the ugly spur with a nervous speed which covered the hilly space in seconds where Hard and Clara had taken minutes to crawl. "I'm afraid they're not troops," observed Hard. "They wouldn't take all that trouble for a pair of strangers. It's Angel, or someone of his sort. Well?" "Well?" Clara smiled bravely. "There's nothing to do but wait. Better let me talk to them; I have the language better in hand, I think. If it's money they want we may as well give them what we have to buy our freedom." "By all means." Hard grinned. "I've got ten dollars. It won't buy much--even of freedom, I'm afraid." "Most of mine is in express checks, tucked away in a sheltered spot," said Clara, frowning. "I don't believe they'd want them--Pachuca didn't. However, I have a little to offer." She handed him her handbag.