“McCulloch will be too late, at last!” exclaimed Harding, halting suddenly, and dashing his hand violently against the wall. The dinner had lost its virtues, for his heart sank even below its former point of depression. And, in truth, his apprehension was far from groundless. De Marsiac was incensed beyond bearing, by the consciousness that Harding had overreached him. His suspicions were first aroused by observing him take a road to _Piedritas_, different to the one he had pointed out. He had watched him until he halted among the elms, and had seen him dispatch the messenger for assistance. He was ignorant, however, of his point of destination—supposing that the nearest American force was at Monclova, about sixty leagues[3] distant. This supposition would give him at least forty-eight hours, in which to prepare for the reception, should soldiers be sent, or, at least, to retreat into the mountains. The interview between Margarita and Harding, had also been watched by some one of the household; and when the count came in great haste after his prisoner, this unwelcome news had met him at the threshold. A man of his violent temper could not have brooked this under any circumstances, least of all, when he possessed, as did the count, ample and ready means of vengeance. While the unfortunate prisoner was running these comfortless circumstances over in his mind, the door was suddenly thrown open, and several men rushed upon him and threw him to the floor. Almost before he was aware of their object, his arms were drawn forcibly back and pinioned behind him. They then lifted him to his feet, and unceremoniously marched him out upon the corridor. Here he found Grant, securely pinioned like himself, and held by two _rancheros_, one on each arm. “This is a pretty predicament you have brought us into,” said the younger, sullenly; “We’re to be shot, I suppose.” “Very probably,” answered Harding, scarcely able to resist, even in that serious moment, an inclination to smile at Grant’s disconsolate look. “But how came you here?” “I escaped from _Embocadura_ about the same time with you, and was in the garden to learn your treachery and—” “And to get that blow on the head,” interrupted Harding, feeling again an impulse to jest. “I’ll settle that score with you hereafter,” said Grant, his eyes flashing fire. “By ‘hereafter,’ I suppose, you mean in the next world,” said Harding, with a bitter smile. “But, seriously, Grant, this is no time for the indulgence of such feelings; we have probably not long to live, and ought to be thinking of more important matters. I am heartily sorry for the blow, as well as for my insincerity—will you forgive it?” “With all my heart,” answered the other warmly; and each made a gesture, as if to join hands; but the cords bound them too closely.