He disappeared again, and Appleby circumspectly took off one of the Alcalde of Santa Marta’s shoes. His foot felt hot, and the patches of stocking that clung about it were saturated, but the light was too dim to show him exactly where it was injured; so he shook the moisture from the shoe through a place where the stitches had parted and put it on again, and was standing stiffly with his weight on one leg when Maccario came by. “You have five minutes to look for anything you may have a fancy for in,” he said. “There is, however, it seems, a lamentable scarcity of pesetas among the troops of Spain.” Appleby turned from him with a little gesture of disgust, and Maccario, who shrugged his shoulders, went away again. But the Sin Verguenza were expeditious, and within ten minutes had grouped themselves, with bulging pockets and haversacks made for other men, in straggling fours. Then the word was given, and they swung away at the best pace they could compass down the carretera. It cost Appleby an effort to limp along with his half company, but he managed it for a time, and nobody except Harper seemed to notice when he lagged behind. Then when they were straggling behind the rearmost files those in front halted as a man came up, and a murmur ran along the line. “Morales with four companies!” said somebody. “Marching by the Adeje cross‐road. If they are not deaf, those cazadores, they have heard the firing!” “Forward!” Maccario’s voice came back. “With Vincente behind us there will be masses needed if we do not pass the Adeje road before Morales.” Then the pace grew faster, and Appleby dropped farther behind, with Harper hanging resolutely at his side. There was very little discipline among the Sin Verguenza at any time, and every man’s first care was to save his own neck just then. So little by little the distance grew greater between them and the two lonely men, until when the last of them swept round a bend Appleby stopped altogether and looked at Harper. “I can’t go any farther on one foot. Push on,” he said. Harper laughed a little. “I’ve a stitch in my side myself, and this kind of gallop takes it out of one. I feel kind of tired of the Sin Verguenza after to‐night’s work, anyway.” Appleby made a little impatient gesture. “Go on,” he said, “go on.” “No, sir. I guess I told you I couldn’t run.” “I’m dead lame,” said Appleby. “You can’t carry me.” “Well, I’m not going to try. We’ll hustle along, and it’s quite likely we’ll get somebody to take us in.” Appleby made a last effort, but his voice shook a little as he said, “This is not your business, Harper. You can’t do anything for me. Don’t be a fool!” Harper laid a hard hand on his shoulder. “Now, I have no use for arguing. We are white men alone in a heathen country, and you can’t help not being an American, anyway. When he’s in a tight place I don’t go back on my partner. You lean on me, and we’ll come to a hole we can crawl into by and by.”