‘I locked the door to the barracks,’ coolly answered the other. ‘Cordano’s men will have to get down into the street from the upper windows.... We can’t leave these men while we’re at it. Tell everybody to be quiet.... Pronto, hombre,’ he added lightly to the soldier with the keys. Sounds of the soldiers’ arousing was heard from the upper floor of el cuartel facing the street. ‘Pronto, hombre--’ the tall bandit repeated. ‘We’ll fight our way to the horses--’ Elbert in the dark of the cell was folding his blankets in a distracted way, fascinated at the same time by that easy flowing voice of the tall one. He was drawing on his boots--the keys sounding nearer. Another of Mamie’s nasal protests reached his ears. Would they take her? The thought actually weakened him--hardly a chance for men of Monte Vallejo to miss one of her kind in the moonlight. And now, standing at the bars of his own cell door--the tall one--that voice, the sentry beside him with the keys, wailing: ‘No bantit aqui, Señor,--esta ’Mericano. Caballero ’Mericano--’ ‘American?’ queried the bandit in English. ‘Oh, I say, in there--is that right?’ Elbert cleared his voice: ‘That you, Bart?’ ‘What the hell--?’ same genial tone. ‘Yes, I am American. I come from your father--’ ‘Open, hombre!’ the command now, and, ‘I don’t know you. You’re a lot safer where you are, but I’m letting you out.’ ‘I came down for you. I’ve got a horse--’ Banging was now heard at the lower door to the barracks. ‘You’ll have to saddle fast. The soldiers are sure coming-to, but they can only get out the upper windows.’ For just a second, as the cell door swung, Elbert saw the lift of a dark face--a glitter to the laugh, that low, easy flowing tone; then he was running across the moonlit patio--saddle-blankets over his left arm, saddle itself trailing from his right hand, a call on his lips for the mare to stand round. The blankets fell in place; cinches came to hand. Mamie’s clean warm mouth closed over the bit, her ears wiggled straight in the head stall. Still, Elbert was the last man out of the patio, Bart standing in the street, covering the flight of his men. Shots rained down from the windows of the second floor of the barracks. A few of Cordano’s soldiers had already dropped down to the street; others were crashing at the lower door which Bart had locked. ‘The horses are in the hollow back of the quarters!’ he yelled in Mexican. The hand of one soldier reached up to Mamie’s bridle-rein, but Bart’s pistol-butt thudded upon the bone. Even in the tumult, Elbert saw that nothing escaped Bart--that he was marvelously on the job, but cool. ‘Follow the others, stranger!’ he called now. ‘I didn’t catch your name!’ ‘Get up here behind me, don’t you want to?’ Elbert answered above the din. ‘Thanks, no. It’s only a little ways to the horses.’