Blaze took the speaker by the shoulder and faced him about.  “Look here,” said he, “I’m beginnin’ to get wise to you.  I believe you’re—­the man in the case.”  When Dave nodded, he vented his amazement in a long whistle.  After a moment he asked, “Well, why did you want me to come here alone, ahead of the others?”

“Because I want you to know the whole inside of this thing so that you can get busy when I’m gone; because I want to borrow what money you have—­”

“What you aimin’ to pull off?” Blaze inquired, suspiciously.

“I’m going to find her and bring her out.”

“You?  Why, Dave, you can’t get through.  This is a job for the soldiers.”

But Dave hardly seemed to hear him.  “You must start things moving at once,” he said, urgently.  “Spread the news, get the story into the papers, notify the authorities.  Get every influence at work, from here to headquarters; get your Senator and the Governor of the state at work.  Ellsworth will help you.  And now give me your last dollar.”

Blaze emptied his pockets, shaking his shaggy head the while.  “La Feria is a hundred and fifty miles in,” he remonstrated.

“By rail from Pueblo, yes.  But it’s barely a hundred, straight from here.”

“You ’ain’t got a chance, single-handed.  You’re crazy to try it.”

The effect of these words was startling, for Dave laughed harshly.  “‘Crazy’ is the word,” he agreed.  “It’s a job for a lunatic, and that’s me.  Yes, I’ve got bad blood in me, Blaze—­bad blood—­and I’m taking it back where I got it.  But listen!” He turned a sick, colorless face to his friend.  “They’ll whittle a cross for Longorio if I do get through.”  He called to Montrosa, and the mare came to him, holding her head to one side so as not to tread upon her dragging reins.

“I’m ’most tempted to go with you,” Blaze stammered, uncertainly.

“No.  Somebody has to stay here and stir things up, If we had twenty men like you we might cut our way in and out, but there’s no time to organize, and, anyhow, the government would probably stop us.  I’ve got a hunch that I’ll make it.  If I don’t—­why, it’s all right.”

The two men shook hands lingeringly, awkwardly; then Blaze managed to wish his friend luck.  “If you don’t come back,” he said, with a peculiar catch in his voice, “I reckon there’s enough good Texans left to follow your trail.  I’ll sure look forward to it.”

Dave took the river-bank to Sangre de Cristo, where, by means of the dilapidated ferry, he gained the Mexican side.  Once across, he rode straight up toward the village of Romero.  When challenged by an under-sized soldier he merely spurred Montrosa forward, eyeing the sentry so grimly that the man did no more than finger his rifle uncertainly, cursing under his breath the overbearing airs of all Gringos.  Nor did the rider trouble to make the slightest detour, but cantered the full length of Romero’s dusty