Yet she had wandered on her pony farther than she meant to, and was not without trepidation at the sudden appearance of the picturesque halfbreed, his teeth flashing in an evil smile as he swept off his broad sombrero to her. Above her suddenly beating heart she sought to chat gayly, while the quick eyes of the outlaw took in the details of the smart riding costume that revealed every line of her lithe young figure. But suddenly she chilled under his hot glance that now spoke all too plainly. “I must return to my friends,” she faltered. “They will be anxious.” But the fellow laughed with a sinister leer. “No--ah, no, the lovely senorita will come with me,” he replied; but there was the temper of steel in his words. For Snake le Vasquez, on the border, where human life was lightly held, was known as the Slimy Viper. Of all the evil men in that inferno, Snake was the foulest. Steeped in vice, he feared neither God nor man, and respected no woman. And now, Estelle St. Clair, drawing-room pet, pampered darling of New York society, which she ruled with an iron hand from her father’s Fifth Avenue mansion, regretted bitterly that she had not given heed to honest Buck Benson. Her prayers, threats, entreaties, were in vain. Despite her struggles, the blows her small fists rained upon the scoundrel’s taunting face, she was borne across the border, on over the mesa, toward the lair of the outlaw. “Have you no mercy?” she cried again and again. “Can you not see that I loathe and despise you, foul fiend that you are? Ah. God in heaven, is there no help at hand?” The outlaw remained deaf to these words that should have melted a heart of stone. At last over the burning plain was seen the ruined hovel to which the scoundrel was dragging his fair burden. It was but the work of a moment to dismount and bear her half-fainting form within the den. There he faced her, repellent with evil intentions. “Ha, senorita, you are a beautiful wildcat, yes? But Snake le Vasquez will tame you! Ha, ha!” laughed he carelessly. With a swift movement the beautiful girl sought to withdraw the small silver-mounted revolver without which she never left the ranch. But Snake le Vasquez, with a muttered oath, was too quick for her. He seized the toy and contemptuously hurled it across his vile den. “Have a care, my proud beauty!” he snarled, and the next moment she was writhing in his grasp. Little availed her puny strength. Helpless as an infant was the fair New York society girl as Snake le Vasquez, foulest of the viper breed, began to force his attention upon her. The creature’s hot kisses seared her defenseless cheek. “Listen!” he hissed. “You are mine, mine at last. Here you shall remain a prisoner until you have consented to be my wife.” All seemed, indeed, lost. “Am I too late, Miss St. Clair?” Snake le Vasquez started at the quiet, grim voice. “Sapristi!” he snarled. “You!” “Me!” replied Buck Benson, for it was, indeed, no other.