He went out, and Appleby sat still, not because that was pleasant, but because he felt the necessity of holding himself in hand. He desired to retain a becoming tranquillity, and now he could only wait found that the tension was growing unendurable. There was no sound in the patio, where the light was failing, but he could hear Harper’s footsteps on the flat roof above, and found himself listening eagerly as his comrade paced up and down. He stopped once, and Appleby felt his heart beating, for it seemed that something had seized Harper’s attention. The footsteps, however, commenced again, and then Harper, who appeared to stop once more for a second, came hastily down the outside stairway. Appleby felt his fingers trembling, and it was only by effort he sat still instead of moving to the door to question him. If Harper had seen anything it was evident his comrade would hear of it in a moment or two. He came on down the stairway, and when he reached the veranda Appleby closed one hand as he moved in his chair, but Harper passed on down the lower stairway, and Appleby sat still again, while a curious little shiver ran through him. Half an hour had elapsed before his comrade came in again and flung himself down in the nearest chair. He shook his head disgustedly, and his face was very grim. “No sign of Pancho, and I’m not going back,” he said. “I guess watching for folks who don’t come gets kind of worrying. There’s another thing. I went prospecting down the tram‐line, and found that sergeant had brought his men closer in.” “I could have told you that,” said Appleby. “If I had thought we could have got away I would scarcely have been quietly sitting here.” Harper’s face flushed. “Well,” he said, “it’s Maccario or Morales now.” He lighted a cigar and sat still, though his big hands quivered now and then, and the veins showed swollen on his forehead. The light grew rapidly dim, and at last Appleby moved sharply when a man came up the stairway with a lamp. Harper laughed unpleasantly. “It can’t last very long now,” he said. “We’ll know what’s going to happen in the next half‐hour.” Appleby glanced at him languidly. “There is,” he said, “one thing that would induce Morales to let us slip through his fingers.” Harper stood up and straightened himself, clenching his hands on the chair back as he stared at Appleby. “If I thought you meant it I’d stop your talking for ever now,” he said. “Oh, I’ve now and then done a smart thing, and nobody expects too much from me, but I haven’t sold a countryman to the Spaniards yet—the devils who sunk the ‘Maine’!” Appleby laughed. “I think,” he said quietly, “you had better sit down.”