“It strikes me that this is just about what we want,” remarked Freeman, in his full, cheerful tones. “We are half a mile from the road; the ground is fairly level; and there’s no possibility of our being disturbed. I was thinking, this afternoon, as I passed through here, what an ideal spot it was for just such a little affair as you and I are bent on. But I didn’t venture to anticipate such speedy good fortune as your obliging condescension has brought to pass, Don Miguel.” “Caramba!” muttered the senor, shivering. He might have said more, but was unwilling to trust his voice, or to waste nervous energy. Meanwhile, Freeman had dismounted, and was tethering his horse. It occurred to the senor that it would be easy to pull his gun, send a bullet through his companion, and gallop away. He did not yield to this temptation, partly from traditional feeling that it would not be suitable conduct for a De Mendoza, partly because he might miss the shot or only inflict a wound, and partly because such deeds demand a nerve which, at that moment, was not altogether at his command. Instead, he slowly dismounted himself, and wondered whether it would ever be vouchsafed him to sit in that saddle again. Freeman now produced his revolver, a handsome, silver-mounted weapon, that looked business-like. “What sort of a machine is yours?” he inquired, pleasantly. “You can take your choice. I’m not particular, but I can recommend this as a sure thing, if you would like to try it. It never misses at twenty paces.” “Twenty paces?” repeated Don Miguel, with a faint gleam of hope. “Of course we won’t have any twenty paces to-night,” added Freeman, with a laugh. “I thought it might be a good plan to start at, say, fifteen, and advance firing. In that way, one or other of us will be certain to do something sooner or later. Would that arrangement be agreeable to Senor de Mendoza?” “Valga me Dios! I am content,” said the latter, fetching a deep breath, and setting his teeth. “I will keep my weapon.” “Muy buen,” returned the American. “So now let us take our ground: that is, if you are quite ready?” Accordingly they selected their stations, facing respectively about north and south, with the planet of love between them, as it were. “Oblige me by giving the word, senor,” said Freeman, cocking his weapon. But Don Miguel was staring with perturbed visage at something behind his antagonist. “Santa Maria!” he faltered, “what is yonder? It is a spirit!” Freeman had his wits about him, and perhaps entertained a not too high opinion of Mexican fair play. So, before turning round, he advanced till he was alongside his companion. Then he looked, and saw something which was certainly enigmatic.