It was natural that any man should color somewhat into a desperado, considering such an existence among those Sierras, but Driscoll was a desperado refined by cynicism. And yet there was still naught of self-consciousness in it all. The change had not been abrupt, but gradual, as a growing into maturity. The roughened native instincts of a gentleman had sobered from Quixotic impulses into a diabolic calm. His bravery was turned to cool and almost supernatural self possession, mocked withal by gentleness. And yet he was not a villain. To the mutineers, to those who beheld his smile, he seemed a fiend. But his horse knew no change in him, which was significant. Something had gone wrong, that was all. The young man who had looked out on the world, half challenging, half expectant, must have seen too suddenly that part of life which is unlovely. However, the thing may not be thus easily explained. The soul of a man, when bent or distorted under stress, is a weird and fearful growth. One may contemplate it in awe; but understand it, never. More than a year before, when Driscoll changed sides, he was embarrassed to find a side to change to, so thoroughly had the Empire swept away all vestiges of the Liberal strength. But on achieving that farewell of his to Mendez, he rode happily southward, with some vague notion of tracking the Republic into Michoacan. The first night he slept under the stars mid tunas and Spanish daggers, and when he awoke it was to find a strange Indito squatting patiently at his feet. He sat up and rubbed his eyes at what might have been a Hindoo image, except that it doffed a straw sombrero. "Y'r Mercy is awake?" queried the idol. "N-o, but it will probably not be long now. Who in thunder are you?" The Indito explained, and Driscoll covered his knees with his hands, and stared and grew more astounded. The ragged fellow said that he had escaped from Mendez's camp by squirming on his belly through the cacti, and he had followed the American senor, on foot. He was, he added, a Republican spy. Driscoll mechanically drew his pistol, but recalled that now he also was Republican. "But why follow me?" he demanded. "I was sent to watch only Y'r Mercy, Y'r Mercy's thousand pardons." "The devil!" "And with Y'r Mercy's permission, I was to kill Y'r Mercy at the first chance. But since Y'r Mercy has changed sides----" "Now look here, who--who put you up to this business, I want to know?" The man shrugged his shoulders. He only knew that a senor chaparro had sent him. "A short senor?" Driscoll repeated. "Then we might call you a Shorter Yet, and maybe you know where this Republica is hiding out?" The Indito brightened. "That's why I'm here, senor. I'll take Y'r Mercy to the Citizen General Regules." At the name Driscoll frowned involuntarily, but laughed as he again remembered that he no longer shared the Imperialist hates.