Grant made no sign. His eyes were upon Benicia’s face, reading there a slow change. Now she, too, had begun to feel a nameless portent stealing over her like the chill from hidden ice. The wells of her eyes were deeper; faint colour came and went in her cheeks and throat. Grant, certain that Urgo was preparing torture for her under the innocent mask of narrative, was helpless to intervene; no diversion short of the work of fists was possible, and that his weakness denied him. “There was of that generation which restored the mission, señor, a wild youth, true descendant of the original O’Donoju. He was known from Mexico City to Tucson as El Rojo--the Red One--for his hair was the veritable colour of that which our cousin possesses. And the devil rode his heart with spurs of fire. You have never been told of El Rojo, Benicia?” The girl made no answer. Her level gaze was a mute challenge. The little colonel rerolled one of his eternal cigarettes, lighted it and drank smoke with a sensuous inhalation. “At the feast of the re-dedication El Rojo, banished from the family, appeared out of nowhere. Conceive the consternation, señor! The red head of the devil’s own come to sanctified ground. This fiery head, so like our Benicia’s, swooping as a comet into the feasting place of the family; well might the pious O’Donojus be fearful. “And their fears were not without grounds. Before El Rojo quit the Mission of the Four Evangelists he had murdered the priest, his own uncle, and stolen the rope of pearls from the sacred image of the Virgin. He rode away with one of his cousins, a foolish girl of the Mayortorenas, who was wife to him in the desert without priest or book.” Urgo let his voice trail away as with a tale finished. His teasing glance lingered on the faces of his two auditors. Benicia drew a tremulous breath and forced a smile, as though she were relaxing from strain. On this cue the story teller unexpectedly continued: “But I hear Señor Hickman ask, ‘What part has all this ancient legend with Señorita Benicia’s red hair?’ Patience, señor. We approach that. “Legend says that though El Rojo’s wife worked upon his heart and brought repentance, it was too late. He returned to the mission a year after his double crime to restore the Virgin’s pearls to the sanctuary. The Apaches had been there just before him. The priests were slain and the mission burned. El Rojo buried the pearls within the stark walls, hoping the good God would accept this his acknowledgment of sin. There the pearls lie to-day beyond sight of man, for the desert has blotted out the last remnants of ruins. “But the sin of El Rojo was not so easily to be forgotten in sight of the good God, sweetest cousin.” Urgo suddenly turned away from Grant, to whom he had been addressing his story, and fixed his eyes on Benicia; almost there was the click of snapping fetters in his glance. “You bear the mark of it above your brow like the mark of Cain--his fire-red hair!”