They beheld her surroundings, and, after an effort, she arose to her feet. She faced him then, at first weak and tottering, but gaining strength and nerve rapidly. Her face had become white now with intense passion, and through her shut teeth, she hissed forth: “You have conquered again, Arden, and by the most accursed act that ever a man was guilty of. I am a Mexican, and women of my race have hot blood that is bitterly revengeful. It seems idle to threaten a man who stands in your position, with the noose of the hangman about his neck, but yet, I now long for you to live that I may make you feel how Nina de Sutro can avenge an insult. Yes, I wish you to live, it is my earnest desire that you should, and I will live with the hope of making you suffer.” “You will aid me to escape, then?” asked the man, impressed in spite of himself at the words and looks of the woman. “I will.” “You will not disappoint me?” “No.” “Remember, failure means my death.” “I understand.” “When will you do this?” “I do not know.” “How?” “I do not know.” “Why not as you planned it before?” “Because the officer I spoke of is on the sick-list and does not go on duty as I supposed he would.” “Then you must hunt up another plan.” “Yes.” “Have you no idea what it is?” “Not the remotest.” “I fear you will make a botch of it.” “If I fail in one way I will try another, and, failing in that, I will make another effort.” “And failing a third time?” “I will aid you to escape if I have to come here by night disguised as Clarice Carr and drive my Mexican dagger to the hilt in the heart of the sentinel at your cabin door, and then give you the uniform of an officer to pass out of the fort in, for it can be done, but only as a last resort. Remember, I shall save you, for I will not let my wrecked girlhood be stained with dishonor.” She drew her veil over her face, turned on her heel, and left the cabin, the man feeling convinced now that he had two chances of escape. “If Ruth’s plot fails, that devil will surely save me, for she will not stand the fear of my reporting what I threatened to do,” mused the outlaw. The woman meanwhile had passed the sentinel, walking leisurely along, calm outwardly but with heart and brain in a whirl. She made her way back to her quarters by the most unfrequented paths and gained her room undetected by any one. Once in her room she threw off the dress and hat she had worn, and was soon in bed, determined to feign illness, for she wanted to be alone to think. There was very little feigning necessary, for she was really ill from the shock she had received. At last she became more calm and was able to center her thoughts upon her plan to rescue the outlaw chief. Mrs. De Sutro came up to see her and was distressed to find her ill. “It’s a sick headache. Let me have a cup of strong tea and then no one must disturb me until morning,” she said.