"Impossible!--she would never have consented to come." "Not by your sending for her direct; I know that." "And how, then?" "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Roblado; "are you so innocent as never to have heard of such a thing as an `_alcahuete_'?" "Oh! true--but by my faith I never found use for one." "No!--you in your fine style have deemed that a superfluity; but you might find use for one now. A very advantageous character that, I assure you--saves much time and trouble--diminishes the chances of failure too. It's not too late. I advise you to try one. If that fails, you have still another string to your bow." We shall not follow the conversation of these ruffians further. Enough to say that it led into details of their atrocious plans, which, for more than an hour, they sat concocting over their wine, until the whole scheme was set forth and placed in readiness to be carried out. It _was_ carried out, in fine, but led to a different ending from what either anticipated. The "lady" who acted as "alcahuete" soon placed herself _en rapport_ with Rosita; but her success was more equivocal than that of Vizcarra himself; in fact, I should rather say unequivocal, for there was no ambiguity about it. As soon as her designs were made known to Rosita, the latter communicated them to her mother; and the scratches which the Comandante had received were nothing to those which had fallen to the lot of his proxy. The "alcahuete" had, in fact, to beg for her life before she was allowed to escape from the terrible Cibolo. She would have sought legal revenge, but that the nature of her business made it wiser for her to pocket the indignities, and remain silent. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. "Now, Roblado," asked the Comandante, "what is the other string to my bow?" "Can't you guess, my dear colonel?" "Not exactly," replied Vizcarra, though he well knew that he could. It was not long since the other string had been before his mind. He had even thought of it upon the day of his first defeat, and while his anger was hot and revengeful. And since then, too--often, often. His question was quite superfluous, for he well knew Roblado's answer would be "force." It _was_ "force." That was the very word. "How?" "Take a few of your people, go by night, and carry her off. What can be more simple? It would have been the proper way at first, with such a prude as she! Don't fear the result. It's not so terrible to them. I've known it tried before. Long ere the cibolero can return, she'll be perfectly reconciled, I warrant you." "And if not?" "If not, what have you to fear?" "The talk, Roblado--the talk."