José was to take them to the house of Dorothea. She would set them on the road to Moctezuma when they were ready to leave. They were to ride fast to the house of the priest and stay there till the silly soldiers had departed to play their game of hide and seek in other parts. “The soldiers, they do little harm to each other. It is the _gente_, the people, who suffer, their houses burned, their crops destroyed.” She was indignant, the good Antonina. She embraced Raquel fondly, taking her to her bosom and kissing her upon both cheeks. Raquel pressed a gold piece in her hand. Antonina wept with joy. She had mothered the young Americans from the goodness of her heart. * * * * * The escape had been so easy--the pinto’s nicker after dark as he was brought to the mouth of the old tunnel shaft where they hid, and sensed his mistress within; the soft dark night, skies like ink in which millions of stars seemed to be throwing out sparks, and shooting back and forth across the heavens. Oh, that sense of nervous expectation as little wiry José led them down a strange trail and over a hill! But they rode unmolested through the dawn, and the sun was already high before they stopped at a small house, located just there in the foothills for no apparent reason. José left them there with the friends of his grandmother, an old woman and an old man, who scarcely addressed either Raquel or Georgie all day, but put them in a wee room off the main room. There Raquel lay on a canvas cot and fell asleep, her brother on the floor beside her. Not till after dark did they set out again. They had only six or eight miles still to go. Their spirits rose and they hummed as they rode along. They were on their way back; probably they could locate El Escondido again as they got farther north. Raquel’s thoughts returned to Don Nestor and the wonderful opportunity for buying cattle there. Now that they felt safe, somehow they did not worry so much about what Mrs. Daniels would think. “Oh, she’ll know we’re all right,” Georgie asserted confidently. “She knows we can take care of ourselves.” They were passing an occasional _rancho_, and a glow of lights began to appear before them among the trees. Suddenly a turn in the road brought them upon a startling scene. Before them rose a large and pretentious adobe casa, from whose gayly lighted windows floated music and sounds of merrymaking. Outside the house there stood and lounged about several companies of soldiers. To what faction they belonged neither Raquel nor Georgie could tell, and before they could beat a retreat two sentries had sprung out from among the acacias bordering the road, and were holding their horses’ heads. “_Quien vive?_” was the hoarse demand on both sides. “Who goes there?” “_Dios y sus Santas!_ [God and His Saints!]” quavered Raquel. “Carranza,” shouted Georgie simultaneously at the top of his lungs.