“Señor”--his voice was cold as a lizard’s foot--“perhaps you do not know that Señorita O’Donoju is travelling under my protection.” Grant took time to tap a cigarette on the heel of his palm and light it before he answered. His eyes were brimming with laughter. “Perhaps not,” he said. “I congratulate the lady on her protector.” Again blue smoke played over the toy moustache; little eyes were snapping like a badger’s. “I have the honour to inform you, señor, that your attentions to the lady do her no credit and that they must cease.” “Really!” Grant’s settled good humour received a jar. He felt a tingling of fighting nerves down his back. “Really? And who constituted you judge of the value of my attentions?” “Very naturally I have appointed that position to myself, señor, since Señorita O’Donoju is to become my wife.” “Ah!” Grant’s interjection did not carry all the irony he would have wished. His assurance was a trifle shaken. “And so,” the little man continued, “it is understood. You will not address the lady further.” Grant laughed. “My understanding is very weak and not at all reliable. I promise you that unless the lady objects I shall continue to address her whenever opportunity presents.” The little figure in the doorway straightened itself in an access of dignity. He snapped his cigarette over the car rail. “Señor, let us have no misunderstanding. We approach the Border, where every man works justice according to the dictates of his own conscience. To-morrow we touch Mexico, where it is known that Colonel Hamilcar Urgo is a law unto himself. I am that Colonel Hamilcar Urgo. Need I go farther?” “And I am Captain Grant Hickman, formerly of the First Division, Expeditionary Forces. Go as far as you like!” CHAPTER III DOC STOODER With evenly divided cause and equal cheerfulness Grant could have kicked the porter and himself when he awoke tardily next morning and found his car at a standstill. He raised the berth curtain and looked out. On the eaves of a station he saw a white board with the name “Arizora” painted upon it and certain irrelevant advice as to the distance to New Orleans and to Culiacan. Out through the curtains popped his head and he whistled the porter. “Why didn’t you give me a call?” was his angry demand. “Yassuh, yassuh, ev’body in this kyar gets out here. Mos’ have gone an’ done it a’ready. You see, Cap’n, this kyar’s been switched off here at the Line two hours ago; train’s kep’ right on goin’ into Sonora.”