flung down, her long cloak streaming after her.
"Gabriel! You are hurt, you are bleeding!" She ran to him, pressing her hand to his wound. "Oh, you are hurt, you are hurt!"
"Run to Felipe; tell him to bring Don Abrahan," Henderson requested her.
Roberto turned his head at the sound of her voice, the hateful jealousy that had ridden him to such unmanly length burning through his humiliation and distress. Helena drew back into the shadow of Henderson's protection.
"If he moves, shoot him!" she whispered. "Do not trust him, Gabriel—shoot him dead if he moves a hand!"
She sped away to summon Felipe, who came marching Don Abrahan down the road.
"So there is a new stake on the table," said Felipe, full of admiration for Henderson's victory against Roberto's treachery. "But your wound, Don Gabriel?"
"A cat scratched me—it is nothing," Henderson returned.
"It is time to cut its claws. And here is the old stake, that had become valueless, worth a fortune now, beside the new." Felipe ranged Don Abrahan beside his son.
Helena stood near Henderson, who still held Roberto at his pistol's point. Pablo had followed the others down, no pressure in the lives of men sufficient to urge him out of his deliberate way. The laborers were coming out from the shelter of
