Still Elbert’s lips were locked. He couldn’t see her clearly, but her hands certainly were not in sight. Nobody with any sense of a horse would leave her hands in her lap. ‘Oh, I’m afraid you don’t like to have me here!’ reached him in the stillness. ‘Sure. Pick up your reins. We’re falling back--’ ‘But he bumps so--’ ‘They don’t make horses any smoother than he is. Want to get back in the car?’ ‘No-o.’ ‘You’re doing all right.’ He had lied in spite of himself, and this didn’t make him feel any better. Old Chester, tired as he was, couldn’t be expected to keep his feet trim, with no hand of authority communicating with the bit. Heat increased under Elbert’s collar. A heave in the road and his left hand shot out before he thought. It was clutched. Warm, small, firm. The two horses pulled apart a little, but the hand didn’t let go. He was afraid of yanking her out of the saddle. ‘I’m so sorry to make you cross. I think it was awful for Florabel to think of coming--oh--I’m falling!’ The hand slid out of his. He hurriedly dismounted. Mary was hanging sideways, both hands on the pommel. Elbert knew the abused look of Chester’s head, hanging low in the dark. He pushed her back up in the saddle. ‘Need any help?’ Slim sang back from in front. ‘No!’ ‘Why, Elbert, I never heard such tones as them, spoke from you before--’ ‘Oh, please don’t be cross!’ in a whisper from his side. ‘I don’t know what I’d ever have done--’ ‘Oh, that’s all right.’ The miles were the longest in his experience. During the last twenty minutes the horses had trudged up hill, the motor making noisy business of the grade. Then the ridge and lights below, San Pasquali, doubtless. Elbert fancied he smelled the oil wells. He would never get away from gasoline. ‘Hadn’t you better get into the car?’ he remarked to Mary Gertling. Cal was back on old Chester. The sedan had just started down-grade, when Elbert saw three red perforations in the dark ahead. The fraction of a second later, three separate concussions shocked his ears--not gas explosions, guns! There was one scream--from the little one--and Cal’s yell directed toward the car, as he spurred forward. ‘Better turn back, Miss--they may have the town surrounded!’ Slim’s Indian and Mamie had settled down after Chester. Shouts of Mexicans sounded beyond the car, just as Elbert’s mare came to abrupt stop. The sedan had halted, too, but the lights still pointed straight ahead. Florabel wasn’t making the turn; she was either shocked helpless, or her engine stalled. In the wide fling of the head-lights, Elbert saw armed Mexicans standing across the road. Then they started this way--six or seven figures running toward them, hands upraised, rifles held aloft For once Cal’s voice lost its drawl. ‘Get in the car, Kid! Let your horse go!’