Her captor halted for a moment, growled out some orders breathlessly in

Spanish, and Myra found herself dumped down on the seat of a motor car,

which immediately started off at a rapid rate. Half stifled, she tore

the cloak from her face, and as she did so an arm encircled her.

"El Diablo Cojuelo has captured the prize of his lifetime!" said a deep

voice triumphantly.

Myra's heart seemed to miss a beat as she felt the outlaw's arm tighten

around her, panic seized her, and she had to fight the inclination to

scream, and scream and scream.

"You are trembling, little lady," said the muffled voice of her captor.

"Do not be so sore afraid. I am not the fiend people make El Diablo

Cojuelo out to be, and will take care of so precious a treasure. Don

Carlos will ransom you, but perhaps when you have seen me and my

mountain nest you will not want to be ransomed."

Myra's natural courage began to reassert itself, and she was ashamed of

having displayed any signs of fear. "Displayed" is hardly the word,

for the inside of the car, which was hurtling along at great speed, was

so dark that she could not even see the shape of the man whose arm

encircled her, and she knew he could not see her.

Somehow, the brigand's voice, muffled though it was--as if he were

speaking with something over his face--struck her as vaguely familiar,

and as Myra collected her scattered wits it occurred to her that El

Diablo Cojuelo had spoken in English.

"A Spanish brigand who speaks English!" she exclaimed aloud, and

Cojuelo laughed.

"Si, señorita!" he answered. "So we shall be able to understand each

other. Don Carlos de Ruiz taught me English, and I imitate his voice

and accent when I am speaking your language. We are really very good

friends, Don Carlos and I, and he bears me no ill-will. I provide him

with amusement, and he would be sorry to see me captured."

"He will certainly bear you ill-will for having kidnapped me, and make

every effort to kill you," retorted Myra, recognising that Cojuelo's

muffled voice did resemble that of Don Carlos.

"Because he loves you?" queried Cojuelo, with a chuckle. "You think he

will be mad because I have robbed him of his heart's desire?"

"How do you know that he loves me?" asked Myra in amazement.

She was no longer terrified, and had recovered her nerve, but she still

found it difficult to believe she was not dreaming. It seemed more

like a nightmare than actuality that she should be sitting in a

pitch-dark car, talking of love and Don Carlos to a Spanish outlaw who

had captured her, and whose arm encircled her waist. She was not

conscious of fear now, but Cojuelo's reply to her question scared her

more than a little.




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