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her might. Camilla's horse shied; Camilla, trying to brush
her hair back from over her eyes, abandoned the reins.
She hesitated, lost her balance and fell in the road, striking
her forehead against the stones.
War Paint, weeping with laughter, pressed on with utmost
skill and caught Camilla's horse.
"Come on, Tenderfoot; here's a job for you," Pancracio
said as he saw Camilla on Demetrio's saddle, her
face covered with blood.
Luis Cervantes hurried toward her with some cotton;
but Camilla, choking down her sobs and wiping her eyes,
said hoarsely:
"Not from you! If I was dying, I wouldn't accept anything
from you . . . not even water."
In Cuquio Demetrio received a message.
"We've got to go back to Tepatitlan, General," said
Luis Cervantes, scanning the dispatch rapidly. "You've
got to leave the men there while you go to Lagos and take
the train over to Aguascalientes."
There was much heated protest, the men muttering to
themselves or even groaning out loud. Some of them,
mountaineers, swore that they would not continue with
the troop.
Camilla wept all night. On the morrow at dawn, she
begged Demetrio to let her return home.
"If you don't like me, all right," he answered sullenly.
"That's not the reason. I care for you a lot, really.
But you know how it is. That woman . . ."
"Never mind about her. It's all right! I'll send her off to
hell today. I had already decided that."
Camilla dried her tears. . . .
Every horse was saddled; the men were waiting only