through gulleys out into the fields. That's what they'll do tomorrow."

"Muy fino!" murmured the Mexican fervently.

"But where's the excitement in that?" persisted Truxton. "Just opening some gates-"

The bar-keeper's face lighted too, he leaned over the bar and spoke eagerly.

"Ef 'twas just opening gates, they wouldn't be no excitement. It's the way them gates has got to be opened."

"Don't they open by machinery?" "Mos' generally. They're out o' order now. Tomorrow they's going to be opened by hand."

"By hand? But-"

"Two men has got to climb up there and open 'em, one fer each gate."

"But-" Truxton's eyes bulged a little, "they'll get themselves killed, of course."

"One chance in ten to get away with it. They use two prisoners out of the jail; one's a bandit, he'd hang anyway. The other stole a horse. If they come out alive they'll go free. It'll be a great sight."

"I believe you," agreed Truxton. He was busy visualizing the scene. The crowd of staring people, the swollen waters heaped up behind the dam-two little figures crawling out onto the concrete, the signal given, the overwhelming rush of water, two dark heads bobbing in the sudden current.

"Prisoners used to do it every year," the bar-keeper was saying. "Then a guy come along and fixed up machinery."

Truxton made his way into the outer air and joined the merrymakers again. "Some little town, Guanajualo," he murmured to himself.

At four o'clock he saw HER. From the first moment his eyes rested upon her dark loveliness he spelt her in capitals. She was in a carriage with another and older woman-mamacita, of course-and a small, dark man, young enough to fill Truxton's soul with fierce dislike. The games were just ended and the spectators, on foot or in carriages, were crowding through the narrow entrance gates. The congestion was great enough to hold her carriage with its three occupants mo

tionless beside him for several moments. Her eyes, eager and interested, met his. Truxton with the healthy young scorn of twenty-four had always bitterly ridiculed love at first sight. But in that moment's look into her eyes he had uttered a dozen passionate, pleading words, read a very shy response in drooping lids and yielding form, and was standing with her all in white beside him, in the old cathedral church of Guanajuato.

A forward movement of the crowd brought him back to reality. He knew that he must have been staring at her rudely, for the man beside her was returning the stare. Her cheeks were flushed, but about the corners of her mouth two dimples showed themselves. Then her carriage rolled forward and she was lost to him. For a moment he still stared, thinking he must have dreamed that lovely face, then he took to his heels and ran after her as fast as he could.

At that place there was an abrupt turn in the road. The congestion of teams, people and automobiles reached a dangerous point. Truxton who kept his eyes fastened on the open barouche with its matched grays, saw them rear suddenly as an automobile back-fired, then plunged forward. The wheel of the barouche locked with that of a wagon in front. There was a crash, the carriage tipped dangerously. Women screamed, men called out, vehicles and people pressed back as far as possible in a widening circle. Truxton saw his opportunity, he leaped forward, seized the grays, forced them back on their haunches until the wheels unlocked. By that time half a dozen men had sprung to his assistance. He let them take control of the situation and leaned back against the wheel of the barouche breathing hard. The flower face, rather pale now, was close to him. The mother, half fainting, was occupying the full attention of the dark little man. It was a golden moment.

He murmured quickly, "Forgive me for staring so rudely at the flower of Guanajuato."

Again the rush of lovely color, again the dimples-then a voice low and musical, he had to lean forward to catch the words.

"One forgives a brave man anything." "I am so happy if my slight services-" "Slight You who have saved our lives!

What reward could be enough?" "Reward!" He had a sudden daring impulse.

"If you feel that way-there is a reward-"

"And what?"

"A dance with you at the ball this evening."

Mamacita, reviving, raised her head, the golden moment was slipping fast.

"One dance," he pleaded. He was goaded by a desperate fear of losing her. The barouche must not bear her out of his sight without some assurance of a future meeting.

The dark eyes met his, half-frightened, half fascinated. She leaned toward him, his ear caught, or thought it caught two mumured words, "The eighth." Joy filled him with a rush.

"I will be there!" he exclaimed.

Then mamacita claimed him and he listened to a flood of thanks and protestations and met the stare of the little dark man, not at all softened by recent happenings. At last the excitement subsided, vehicles and people took up their slow advance, and Truxton was left in the middle of the road.

The music was uttering all sorts of yearning and inexpressible things when Truxton made his way into the Casino at nine o'clock that evening. He stood in the door a moment watching the picture before him with eager curiosity. Masked figures in every kind of brilliant costume drifted past him, blown along by the music, like gaily colored leaves driven by the wind. Streamers of red, green, and yellow bunting hung from the walls and rafters. The ball was at its height, for he had delayed his coming until late. For him the interest centered in the eighth dance.

The time since he saw her and won her half-frightened promise had passed like a dream.

Her face went with him everywhere, her voice rang softly in his ears. Many times before in his active, wholesome young life, Truxton had thrilled at the look in a girl's eyes or a tone of her

voice, but never in this way. It seemed to him that nothing had really been worth while before he saw her that after noon. He lived in the thought of seeing her again. He meant to pour all the intensity of his wooing into those few moments with her, like rich wine into a great, golden cup, which he would drain to the last drop. After that-there was still tomorrow.

His eager glance found her at once, she was glowing like a crimson rose in a red, satin dress and mask. He watched her for a few moments with mingled delight and despair, delight at the sight of her young grace and charm, fierce jealously at the man who danced with her, his arm around her waist; of her smile as she looked up at him. The next dance was the eighth. Had she seen him? Should he wait for her to give him some sign? Would she remember?

Truxton usually took one way with any knotty problem-he cut the knot at once. So the music had scarcely died away when he was at her side.

"This is our dance," he said briefly. "My mother," she murmured; "we must speak to her."

He drew her hand firmly through his arm. "We will-afterward," he said.

The dance was all that he had dreamed. He drew her close to him with a joy too deep for any words, and they floated down the stream of the music to some inexpressible happiness which seemed waiting just beyond. Never a doubt assailed his mind that his feelings were shared, to some degree at least, by her. Suddenly he stopped and led her toward the balcony just outside.

"I don't want to hear the end of the music," he said.

She followed him without question. The balcony overlooked the square, it was flooded with moonlight, a soft breeze caressed their faces. Truxton's heart was throbbing eagerly, no presentiment of coming evil chilled him. They sat down on a bench and the moonlight touched their faces with radiance. They slipped into the silence of a measureless content, his eyes spoke to her and hers answered and neither was aware of what their looks revealed.

"How do you happen to speak English so well?" he demanded, abruptly.

"I went two years to school in San Francisco."

"How long ago?"

"It was a year in June that I came home."

"Then-I must have been there at the same time I never knew it."

"How should you?"

"Something should have told me."

She looked down at her clasped hands. He was aware of the swift color and the dimples. He lost himself in contemplation of them.

After a while- "When shall I see you again?" he asked.

She looked up at him with an adorable smile. He knew it for quite a different sort from the one she had given to her recent partner. "There is tomorrow," she murmured.

"That's just what I've been telling myself," he stammered eagerly. "There's tomorrow. What do they do tomorrow?"

"Oh, that is the great day, that is when the gates are opened."

"Oh, yes, I heard something- Tell me about it."

"Years ago," she began, with the eagerness of one who tells an absorbing tale. Truxton listened dreamily, watching the play of the moonlight across her face, the shine of her eyes, the quick changes of emotion expressed in her charming features. Soon, however, he became aware that he was hearing an intensely dramatic story, he roused himself to listen more closely.

"For five years now the gates have been opened by machinery, but tomorrow it is different. The machinery is out of order, it works no more, so once again the prisoners must open the gates. They have already been chosen."

"That's great stuff." What time do they pull it off?"

"Just at noon."

"We'll be there, you and I-together. What?"

Her answer was lost in the hoarse scream of a crow overhead, but it could not have been discouraging for Truxton caught her hand and drew her close to him. The harsh cry of the crow sounded

again and it was like derisive laughter. He looked up to see where it came from. When he turned his eyes back to her she was rising to her feet in agitation. The little dark man stood in the window watching them.

"I must go in now- I must," she said.

He had just time to catch her hand, recklessly in his and press it tight. "Tomorrow," he whispered.

There was a slight vibrating quiver in the hand he held, and she was gone.

After that things began to happen swiftly.

Not wishing to dance again, Truxton walked over to the railing, lit a cigarette and stood looking down at the square below. Many Mexicans were dancing in the square the picturesque, native dances. They made a changing play of light and color. One couple especially caught his attention, there was a grace and abandon in their movements like the spirit of youth. They swung and pirouetted, weaving in and out among the other dancers, brushing them close, circling them, but never losing their own rhythm. There was a subtle meaning in every movement. He watched them fascinated, there was something of her grace in the girl's figure; the strong clasp of the man's arm about her, the protecting tenderness of his broad shoulders bending over her seemed the outward expression of the passion that burned in his own veins. Youth and love those two below him were Youth and Love weaving their idyl into the dance, his heart quickened in response.

At that moment he noticed a policeman, followed by two angry, gesticulating men, working their way among the dancers toward the two of his choice. He leaned out over the railing in sudden anxiety. Danger was threatening the two. They seemed quite unconscious of it, moving on in perfect rhythm. At that moment the girl was lifting a small, flushed face to the man, he bent close to hear what she said. Was it Truxton's fancy or did the man cast a quick, anxious glance around? Yes, they were edging toward the Casino. But already they were too late. Truxton saw that the

men had separated and were approaching them from different angles. They were running into the jaws of the trap. Then Truxton obeyed a quick, restless impulse. He leaped over the balcony into the square. He found himself close beside the two. His unexpected arrival had caught their attention, in fact everybody in the square was watching him. He called to the two in low tones, "Look out, you are surrounded!"

They caught the warning, whether or not they understood the English. With a quick movement they separated and darted into the crowd. But their pursuers were quicker. Truxton witnessed their capture and the angry excitement increasing about them. With an uneasy feeling that he had been very foolish he turned back toward the Casino. Then he discovered that the Casino arch had hidden a fourth policeman who was now heading directly for him.

"You come along wid me!" he shouted in good Irish-American. "You're one of the gang!"

Truxton protested vigorously but vainly. The hand of the law was upon his shoulders.

"You give them thieves the tip to get away. I seen you do it."

There was nothing to be answered to this. Truxton's conviction of folly deepened into something like fear. He was in a wild bit of country, a long way from the American flag which was not popular there at any time. If these people he had tried to befriend were really thieves

They were. Encircled by a threatening ring of angry people, he saw rings, pins and trinkets taken from hidden places in the clothes of both of them. Then he himself was searched roughly. Then discov. ery of two or three uncut turquoises and a lady's watch (his mother's) seemed to prove his complicity. Then his common sense deserted him all at once, he struck out right and left in a mad attempt to get away. He was quickly overpowered and beaten into semi-consciousness.

An hour or so later he awoke to find himself staring through the barred window of an adobe jail on the outskirts of Guanajuato. Truxton was astounded at

the swiftness and the completeness of the disaster. An hour ago he was a free man, on the verge of a big business success, the favorite of fortune, madly in love and with more than a slight hope of winning a response to his cyclonic love making. Now he stood here in the cell of a Mexican jail, convicted of being one of a gang of thieves. Who would believe or how could he explain the absurd and romantic impulse which had made him leap over the railing to warn two criminals against capture? It would be almost better for him to offer no explanation.

Keenest torture of all, she would hear of this, if she had not already heard. For his last dim consciousness had been of the shouts of maskers running out from the Casino to see what was happening. She would believe the worst of him, she would think that his rescue of her in the afternoon, his bold request to dance with her at the ball, those wonderful moments on the balcony were all so many clumsy attempts to get close enough to her to rob her of some trinket. He turned sick at the thought. Nothing in all his life had ever caused him such pain. He took his throbbing head between his hands and groaned aloud.

His groan was echoed fervently from a corner of the cell. He looked hastily around, he had thought himself alone. The knowledge of alien eyes upon him brought him back to self control. He walked over to the corner and peered into the shadows. A Mexican was crouched there squatting on his haunches like a dog, and mumbling to himself. He looked up as Truxton bent over him and his face was full of misery.

"What's wrong?" demanded Truxton, "sick or only drunk?"

"No, senor, but tomorrow-las compuertas-"

"The gates?"

"Si, Senor, they open!"

"And you won't be there to see? Neither shall I. We'll be having a dif ferent kind of celebration."

"No, senor-I-I open las compuertas." "What! You're one of the men to open the gates?"

"Si!"

"Which one are you the bandit or the horse thief?"

"I take one horse-one leetle horse-it was all one meestake."

"Why didn't you take an automobile? Then you'd have been all right."

The man's reply was another groan, hollow, hopeless.

"You don't care for the gate opening job, eh?"

"Senor, it ees death!"

"O come, there's a chance, at least." But the man sat back upon his haunches and resumed his grumbling. Truxton gathered that he was repeating his prayers. He stared down at him for several moments. His face grew keen, alert, the blood pounded at his temples. He was remembering certain words of her's. "One forgives a brave man anything." This was what she had said.

He sat down in the shadow by the mumbling figure and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I want to talk to you," he declared briskly.

The gates of the dam were to be opened at noon. By quarter of twelve the high ground on either side was crowded with people making holiday. A long procession came winding through the town, headed by two priests who chanted a dirge. They were followed by the prisoners and after them trailed half of Guanajuato. The bandit walked with head high, exchanging greetings here and there and flashing his teeth at the women. Execrations, mingled with murmurs of reluctant admiration, followed his progress. The other walked with

head down, muffled in the long coat which both wore. He glanced neither to right nor left but shuffled along miserably.

"He is a coword, that one!" exclaimed the crowd. "He is brave to steal horses but he is afraid to open the gates."

The people on the hills caught sight of the procession and uttered a mighty roar. The chanting of the priests was drowned in it, the hills rocked. Fearful expectation gripped every one, a mad thirst for excitement, as when the bull is led into the arena. The procession wound its way through the valley and up to the

great dam. There it stopped and from the cathedral tower a bell began to toll. A hush fell upon the people. A great, dramatic moment was at hand. The hush became intense, the thousands on the hillside seemed scarcely to breathe, but for an occasional choked cry or exclamation.

A pistol shot shattered the silence. It was the signal. The two prisoners threw aside their coats and leaped on to the wall of the dam. They wore black swimming tights and their figures were clearly outlined against the sky. The bandit stood with head lifted and waved his hand in gay bravado. But a murmur of surprise went up from the crowd which grew in volume and intensity-the second man, who was he? Not the horse thief, they all knew him. Most of them had never seen this man before, but there were some who knew and the murmur swelled into a shout, "The American! The American!"

On the hill a girl, sitting heavy eyed and listless among the merrymakers, heard it and started wildly to her feet. She saw the second figure, tall and alert, she stretched out trembling hands toward him and echoed the cry: "The American!"

As if he had heard her voice above them all, Truxton turned his head and looked directly at her. The girl clasped her hands in uncontrollable agitation, heedless of her mother's reproaches and the curious looks of those about her.

Now the men stood at either side of the great gates, waiting. There was a second pistol shot, the great gates stirred and began slowly to open with a groan of iron hinges. There was a great shout of warning, then a mighty exultant roar as the pent-up waters of the lake hurled themselves through the narrow opening out into the country beyond. The mad swirl of the oncoming flood raced far up into the hills and sent many of the onlookers fleeing for their lives. Masses of debris were broken out and carried along with it, boulders, young trees and in their midst, now on the surface, now beneath, two black, bobbing specks which were two men fighting hard for life.

The crowd was on its feet now, surg