“I would go with ye, but I want to take charge of the unloading. Don’t lose any time, lad, for as soon as Megales learns of what has happened his fellows will scour the town for every mother’s son of us. Of course you have been under surveillance, and it’s likely he’ll try to bag you with the rest of us. It was a great piece of foolishness me forgetting about the line of the Chihuahua Northern and its telegraph. But there’s a chance Chaves has forgot, too. Anyway, get back as soon as you can; after we’re hidden, it will be like looking for a needle in a haystack to put his fat finger on us.” Bucky went singing up the stairway of the hotel to his room. He was keen to get back to his little friend after the hazards of the night, eager to see the brown eyes light up with joy at sight of him and to hear the soft voice with the trailing inflection drawl out its shy questions. So he took the stairs three at a time, with a song on his lips and in his heart. “’Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone My dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! ’Tis you shall have the golden throne, ’Tis you shall reign, and reign alone My dark Rosaleen!” O’Connor, somewhat out of breath, was humming the last line when he passed through the gypsy apartments and opened his own door, to meet one of the surprises of his life. Yet he finished the verse, though he was looking down the barrels of two revolvers in the hands of a pair of troopers, and though Lieutenant Chaves, very much at his ease, sat on the table dangling his feet. Bucky’s sardonic laughter rang out gayly. “I ce’tainly didn’t expect to meet you here, lieutenant. May I ask if you have wings?” “Not exactly, señor. But it is quite possible you may have before twenty-four hours,” came the swift retort. “Interesting, if true,” remarked the ranger carelessly, tossing his gloves on the bed. “And may I ask to what I am indebted for the pleasure of a visit from you?” “I am returning your call, sir, and at the very earliest opportunity. I assure you that I have been in the city less than ten minutes, Señor whatever-you-choose-to-call-yourself. My promptness I leave you to admire.” “Oh, you’re prompt enough, lieutenant. I noticed that when you handed over your gun to me so lamblike.” He laughed it out flippantly, buoyantly, though it was on his mind to wonder whether the choleric little officer might not kill him out of hand for it. But Chaves merely folded his arms and looked sternly at the American with a manner very theatrical. “Miguel, disarm the prisoner,” he ordered. “So I’m a prisoner,” mused Bucky aloud. “And whyfor, lieutenant?” “Stirring up insurrection against the government. The prisoner will not talk,” decreed his captor, a frowning gaze attempting to quell him.