After all, they were a generation of slaves, those low-browed, unthinking peons, and war had not made them brave. They passed on, the whole long line of bewildered soldiery, looking in vain for the men that were behind the American, staring blankly at the beautiful woman who sat so courageously by his side. When the last had gone by Bud picked up his rifle and watched him around the point. Then he smiled grimly at Gracia, whose eyes were still round with wonder, and led the way down the trail. XXVIII The high pass and the _insurrectos_ were behind them now and the rolling plains of Agua Negra were at their feet. To the northeast the smoke banners of the Gadsden smelters lay like ribbons across the sky, and the line was not far away. Yet, as they came down from the mountains, Bud and Gracia fell silent and slackened their slashing pace. The time for parting was near, and partings are always sad. Bud looked far out across the valley to where a train puffed in from the south, and the sight of it made him uneasy. He watched still as it lay at the station and, after a prolonged stare in the direction of Agua Negra, he reined sharply to the north. "What is it?" asked Gracia, coming out of her reverie. "Oh, nothing," answered Bud, slumping down in his saddle. "I see the railroad is open again--the' might be somebody up there looking for us." "You mean--" "Well, say a bunch of _rurales_." He turned still farther to the north as he spoke and spurred his jaded horse on. Gracia kept her roan beside him, but he took no notice, except as he scanned the line with his bloodshot eyes. He was a hard-looking man now, with a rough stubble of beard on his face and a sullen set to his jaw. As two horsemen rode out from distant Agua Negra he turned and glanced at Gracia. "Seems like we been on the run ever since we left Fortuna," he said with a rueful smile. "Are you good for just one more?" "What is it now?" she inquired, pulling herself together with an effort. "Are those two men coming out to meet us? Do you think they'd stop us?" "That's about our luck," returned Hooker. "But when we dip out of sight in this swale here we'll turn north and hit for the line." "All right," she agreed. "My horse is tired, but I'll do whatever you say, Bud." She tried to catch his eyes at this, but he seemed lost in contemplation of the horsemen. "Them's _rurales_," he said at last, "and heading straight for us--but we've come too far to get caught now. Come on!" he added bruskly, and went galloping up the swale. For two miles they rode up the wash, their heads below the level of the plain, but as Bud emerged at the mouth of the gulch and looked warily over the cut bank he suddenly reached for his rifle and measured the distance to the line. "They was too foxy for me," he muttered, as Gracia looked over at the approaching _rurales_. "But I can stand 'em off," he added, "so you go ahead." "No!" she cried, coming out in open rebellion.