“Ha, a very pretty answer,” replied one of the soldiers, “but off you get, both of you, and into the house yonder till the _commandante_ sees for himself if he has any further need of you.” And at the points of their bayonets they drove the two toward a corral gate, and through, where they were at once surrounded by other soldiers. Paintbrush laid back his ears and rose wickedly on his hind feet as a soldier laid a hand on the bridle. Had the man not ducked out of the way the pinto would undoubtedly have annihilated him. Raquel slipped quickly to the ground. “Let me, Señor. He is not a broncho, only a wild horse but newly gentled. I am the only one who can manage him.” “Put him up then,” growled the soldier, “and that one too,” pointing at Georgie and his little brown pony, which Georgie was stimulating to a very pretty exhibition of bucking and fancy rearing, through pricking and a few tricks which the good little beast knew well. So they were permitted to stable their ponies within an inside corral, high-walled, over which there was no escape, and as they came out, they were surprised to find that for the moment their guard had disappeared. Knowing that there was no escape over the high spiked wall, he had returned to his gambling game at the gate. Beside them was an open window, unbarred. Instinctively Raquel pushed Georgie through and followed on his heels. They were in an end room, dimly lit with candles, and piled with soldierly equipment. A doorway opposite led out upon a large patio, around which ran a gallery. They slipped across and looked out. They were at the kitchen end of the house and a grape arbor offered a covered passageway across the rear of the court yard. A dance was in progress at the front of the house, and the rest of the place seemed deserted. They could see an empty bedroom across the patio. Slipping through the arbor they peered in a doorway. On the bed lay various feminine garments. In an open wardrobe hung others. “Let’s dress like girls,” whispered Raquel to Georgie, “and then perhaps we can get by.” It seemed a daring idea. She had entered Mexico disguised as a boy; now she would escape “disguised” as a girl! Reaching through a window she lifted from a chest a mass of rose-colored ruffles. It was a skirt which looked like civil war days. A petticoat lay beneath it. Raquel pulled off her _pantolones_ and sandals, standing there in the dark, with the music of the mandolins and fiddles and the gayety up forward going on all the while. She slipped into the skirts and stepped within the room to complete her toilette. She peeped at herself in a little old mirror atop a high chest of drawers. Horrors! What a dirty face! But there was a basin, water, and towels in the room, and powder on the bureau beside the _colorete_ which some soft-eyed belle had used that night. Raquel threw a mantilla out for Georgie. He wrapped it about him and stepped into the room.