"Yes, we are 'much fools'; that seems ordained. Yet there are true, noble men in this world, Mercedes, and blessed is she who can boast of such a friendship. This Mr. Winston is one, and, perhaps, your stuttering giant may prove another." She caught at a straw of hope in thus interesting the girl. "So he is at the 'Little Yankee'? and you wish to serve him? Then listen; he is in danger also if this scheme of revenge carries--in danger of his life. Dynamite does not pick out one victim, and permit all others to escape." "Dynamite?" "That was Farnham's threat, and God knows he is perfectly capable of it. Now, will you aid me?" The young Mexican girl stood staring with parted lips. "Help you how? Vat you mean?" "Warn the men of the 'Little Yankee.'" The other laughed behind her white teeth, yet with no mirth in the sound. "Ah, maybe I see, senorita; you try make a fool out me. No, I not play your game. You try turn me against Senor Farnham. I tink you not catch Mercedes so." "You do not believe me?" "_Sapristi_! I know not for sure. Maybe I help, maybe I not. First I talk vis Senor Farnham, an' den I know vether you lie, or tell true. Vatever ees right I do." "Then permit me to pass." Miss Norvell took a resolute step forward, clasping her skirts closely to keep them from contact with the dusty scenery crowding the narrow passage. The jealous flame within the black eyes of the Mexican dimmed. "You can no pass dat vay," she explained swiftly, touching the other's sleeve. "Not through the stage door?" The other shook her head doggedly. "Eet is alvay locked, senorita." Beth Norvell turned about in dismay, her eyes pleading, her breath quickening. "You mean we are shut in here for the night? Is n't there any way leading out?" "Oh, si, si," and Mercedes smiled, waving her hands. "Zar is vay yonder vare de orchestra goes. Eet leads to de hall; I show you." "Did he know?" "Vat? Senor Farnham? No doubt, senorita. Come, eet ees but de step." The bewildered American hung back, her eyes filled with dread resting upon the black shadow of the curtain, from behind which clearly arose the strains of a laboring orchestra, mingling with the discordant noise of a ribald crowd. Farnham understood she was locked in; knew she might hope to escape only through that scene of pollution; beyond doubt, he waited in its midst to gloat over her degradation, possibly even to accost her. She shrank from such an ordeal as though she fronted pestilence. "Oh, not that way; not through the dance hall!" she exclaimed. Mercedes clapped her hands with delight. To her it appeared amusing. "Holy Mother! Vy not? Eet make me laugh to see you so ver' nice. Vat you 'fraid 'bout? Vas eet de men? Pah! I snap my fingers at all of dem dis vay. Dey not say boo! But come, now, Mercedes show you vay out vere you no meet vis de men, no meet vis anybody. Poof, eet ees easy."