Longorio breathed an oath and swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. "You have poisoned my mind. A whole day and night, eh? That is bad. What happened? What kind of a fool is her husband? I cannot bear to think of this! See, I am beside myself. Caramba! I live in paradise; I come flying on the wings of the wind, only to learn that my blessed divinity has a lover. If only my excellent Blanco had shot this fellow Law instead of that Guzman! If only I could lay hands upon him here in Mexico! Ha! There would be something to print in the American papers." He began to dress himself feverishly, muttering, as he did so: "I will permit no one to come between us. ... The thought kills me. ... You bring me bad news, Jose, and yet I am glad you came. I accept your offer, and you shall be my man henceforth; ... but you shall not go out to be shot by those rebels. No, you shall return to Las Palmas to be my eyes and my ears, and, when the time comes, you shall be my hands, too. ... I will avenge your cousin Panfilo for you, my word on that. Yes, and I will make you a rich man." Jose listened hungrily to these promises. He was relieved at the change in his plans, for, after all, a soldier's life offered few attractions, and--the food at Las Palmas was good. The general promised him fine wages, too. Truly, it was fortunate that he had come to Romero. "Now we have settled this," Jose's new employer declared, "run away and amuse yourself until dark. Then we will take a little journey by way of the old ferry." "It is not altogether safe," ventured Jose. "That country over there is alive with refugees." "I will take some men with me," said Longorio. "Now go and let me think." XVIII ED AUSTIN TURNS AT BAY Had it not been for her fears, Paloma Jones would have taken her visit to the Austin ranch as an unmixed enjoyment. To her Alaire had always been an ideally romantic figure. More than once, in her moments of melancholy, Paloma had envied Mrs. Austin's unhappiness and yearned to bear a similar sorrow--to be crossed in love and to become known as a woman of tragedy. To have one's life blasted, one's happiness slain by some faithless lover, impressed the girl as interesting, thrilling. Moreover, it was a misfortune calculated to develop one's highest spiritual nature. Surely nothing could be more sadly satisfying than to live alone with regretful memories and to have the privilege of regarding the world as a vain show. Unfortunately, however, Paloma was too healthy and too practical to remain long occupied with such thoughts. She was disgustingly optimistic and merry; misanthropy was entirely lacking in her make-up; and none of her admirers seemed the least bit inclined to faithlessness. On the contrary, the men she knew were perfect nuisances in their earnestness of purpose, and she could not manage to fall in love with any one sufficiently depraved to promise her the slightest misery. Paloma felt that she was hopelessly commonplace.