Angel Gonzales, closely followed by Porfirio Cortes, drew up beside the odd-looking couple sitting by the wayside. The other men lingered within hearing. Angel opened the conversation in his native tongue. "Who are you and where are you going?" he demanded, his shifty black eyes gleaming from his weather-beaten face. "And why?" growled Cortes. "When the country is upset, the place for foreigners is at home." "Yes, we know it is," said Clara, placatingly. "But your country, you know, is almost always upset. This gentleman, Senor Hard, is connected with the mining company at Athens. I am from the South, and on my way to the border." "Where are your horses?" said Angel, suspiciously. "A young man named Juan Pachuca raided the ranch where we were visiting and took all the livestock," replied Clara, eyeing the swarthy fellow quietly. There was a hurried colloquy between the two Mexicans and a laugh from Gonzales. "You are not going toward Athens," he observed, drily. "No, we're not," replied Hard. "We're heading for the Soria place just at present with the idea of borrowing their burro to ride and tie." He had risen and was leaning heavily on his well leg. "Humph! It is a long walk to the Soria place," grunted Angel. "You're lame?" "Yes, temporarily." "Humph!" Angel turned to his men. "Here, two of you double up and give these people horses," he commanded curtly. Apparently, he was one of those leaders whose word is law, for two of the men rolled their horses and led them toward the two Americans who stared at them in astonishment. "We go by Soria's," said Angel, gruffly. "We will take you that far." "Thank you, but I think----" Clara began weakly, but stopped as she felt herself being seized by one of the men and lifted roughly to the saddle of a wiry little gray horse which was dancing around in a most disconcerting manner. It was a time for self-preservation and not for protest. She grasped the pommel desperately with one hand and the reins with the other, while her feet were being thrust into the straps of the stirrups--the stirrups themselves being too long. She was badly scared, for the horse gave every indication of being unmanageable; and very miserable, for her skirt pulled in a most uncomfortable and unsightly fashion. There was nothing to do, however, but to make the best of it; for having helped her mount, the man who did so climbed up back of one of his fellows and abandoned her to her fate. Hard, in the meantime, had mounted another rough-looking but more conventionally disposed beast, and the procession started back to the road, the two Americans side by side, surrounded by the Mexicans; Angel Gonzales leading, and Porfirio Cortes bringing up the rear. "It may be a friendly lift, but it looks more like a case of abduction," said Hard, wrathfully. "Can you hold that brute, Clara?" "I hope so," she said, her lips a bit white. "I think the poor thing is as scared as I am; probably never saw skirts before in his life."