Morales nodded. “It is a month since we marched east with a strong company and a little machine‐gun,” he said. “We march by night, and it is sunrise when we climb the Alturas gorge. Above, three leagues away, hides a company of the Sin Verguenza, and the Captain Vincente who marches round will take them in the rear. I have scouts thrown forward, and we march silently, but by and by the front files come running back and there is firing in the pass. The Sin Verguenza, it seems, are upon us, but that is not wise of them. Figure you the place—the rock one cannot climb above us, a barranco, very deep, below, and the machine‐gun to sweep the track. Pouf! It is swept. The Sin Verguenza melt away, and we go forward to conclude the affair.” “Well,” said Harding a trifle impatiently, “where do the Americans come in?” Morales’ face grew wicked. “Down the rock, my friend. Perhaps they are sailors; for where there is no footing for any man they slide down the lianas, and others follow them. The cazadores do not look above; there is still firing, and they do not hear me. The Americans are upon the gun, and more of the Sin Verguenza arrive behind them. I see one American who is young with his shoulder at the wheel of the gun, and in another minute it is gone, and there is a crash in the barranco. Then the Sin Verguenza come back again, and we go home, my friend; but it is not all my company who come out of Alturas Pass. One waits, however, and by and by my turn comes.” Nettie Harding said nothing, but there was a significant sparkle in her blue eyes, while her father’s nod was deprecatory. “They are not friends of mine, and I have a good deal to lose,” he said. “What I want to know is, if you had money to spare would you buy the San Cristoval hacienda? There should be a profit in it at the price, but not if the patriots are likely to burn the sugar mill, or the administration to quarter troops there. You are responsible for this district!” “Money is very scarce with me, my friend,” said Morales dryly. Harding nodded sympathetically, and dropped his voice to a lower tone. “One would be content with a little less profit if it meant security,” he said. “It would pay me to make certain that the hacienda would not be meddled with—by the Sin Verguenza.” There was a little gleam of comprehension in the officer’s eyes, and he thoughtfully flicked the ash from his cigar. “I think I could promise that,” he said. “We will talk again, senor, but now—if I have your excuses—I think I will be wanted at the cuartel.” He rose, made Miss Harding a little punctilious inclination, and moved away, while the lamplight flung his shadow black upon the pink‐washed walls. It seemed to the girl suggestively sinister. “I do not like that man,” she said. “He has wicked eyes, and his face is cruel!”