In reply to this suggestion Paloma merely muttered something under her breath.

The brief night ride had given Alaire time in which to recover from her first apprehensions, and now she was surprised at her own coolness.  Ed’s behavior had shocked and horrified her; she was still half paralyzed at his treachery; nevertheless, her mind was clear, and she was determined to avert a tragedy if possible.  She knew only too well what would happen when Blaze Jones and Dave Law encountered the Lewis gang; the presence of Longorio’s soldiers merely made more certain the outcome of that meeting.  The general was furious; it was plain that he would not tolerate this expedition, the avowed purpose of which was to prove him a liar.  It would make but little difference, therefore, whether the quest for Ricardo Guzman’s body had been successful or not:  even the fact that this was American soil would not deter Longorio from violent action, for the Rio Grande was no real boundary, and this part of Texas was as truly Mexican as that other river-bank which lay two hundred yards distant.

A confusion of such thoughts were racing through Alaire’s mind as she felt her way out of the boiler-room and into that part of the building where the pumping machinery stood.  Dusty, cobwebbed windows let in a faint ghost-glow of moonlight, but prevented clear observation of anything outside; Alaire’s fumbling fingers found the latch of the front door and began to lift it, when some one spoke, just outside the building.

“What did you discover?” inquired a voice which neither woman recognized.  Paloma clutched blindly for her companion; the two eavesdroppers stood rooted in their tracks.  The pounding of their hearts sounded loudly.  Since the building was little more than a wooden shell, they could plainly hear the answer: 

“The house is full of Greasers.  I can’t tell who they are.”

A third man spoke, this time in Spanish.  “That was Tad Lewis who just came, senor.”

There followed some whispered words indistinguishable to the listeners, then a rustle of bodies moving through the tall grass and weeds.

Paloma placed her lips close to Alaire’s ear.  “Who are those people?” she breathed.

“I don’t know.  They must be the ones who came in that strange automobile.”

Paloma chattered viciously:  “Everybody in Texas is here.  I wish we’d thought to scatter tacks behind us.”

Cautiously they swung the door back and looked out.  The open space along the river-bank was leveled by the moonlight; from Morales’s house, to their right, came the sound of voices.  The women waited.

A few moments, then a number of men appeared.  Paloma judged there were at least a dozen, but she was too excited to count them.  As they came straggling toward the pump-house one of them called back: 

“Morales!  Put out your damned lights,” Both women recognized Tad Lewis as the speaker.