Beth Norvell

"You do not believe me?"

"Sapristi! I know not for sure. Maybe I help, maybe I not. First I

talk vis Señor Farnham, an' den I know vether you lie, or tell true.

Vatever ees right I do."

"Then permit me to pass."

Miss Norvell took a resolute step forward, clasping her skirts closely

to keep them from contact with the dusty scenery crowding the narrow

passage. The jealous flame within the black eyes of the Mexican dimmed.

"You can no pass dat vay," she explained swiftly, touching the other's

sleeve.

"Not through the stage door?"

The other shook her head doggedly.

"Eet is alvay locked, señorita."

Beth Norvell turned about in dismay, her eyes pleading, her breath

quickening.

"You mean we are shut in here for the night? Is n't there any way

leading out?"

"Oh, si, si," and Mercedes smiled, waving her hands. "Zar is vay

yonder vare de orchestra goes. Eet leads to de hall; I show you."

"Did he know?"

"Vat? Señor Farnham? No doubt, señorita. Come, eet ees but de step."

The bewildered American hung back, her eyes filled with dread resting

upon the black shadow of the curtain, from behind which clearly arose

the strains of a laboring orchestra, mingling with the discordant noise

of a ribald crowd. Farnham understood she was locked in; knew she

might hope to escape only through that scene of pollution; beyond

doubt, he waited in its midst to gloat over her degradation, possibly

even to accost her. She shrank from such an ordeal as though she

fronted pestilence.

"Oh, not that way; not through the dance hall!" she exclaimed.

Mercedes clapped her hands with delight. To her it appeared amusing.

"Holy Mother! Vy not? Eet make me laugh to see you so ver' nice. Vat

you 'fraid 'bout? Vas eet de men? Pah! I snap my fingers at all of

dem dis vay. Dey not say boo! But come, now, Mercedes show you vay

out vere you no meet vis de men, no meet vis anybody. Poof, eet ees

easy."

She danced lightly away, her hand beckoning, her black eyes aglow with

aroused interest. Reluctantly the puzzled American slowly followed,

dipping down into the black labyrinth leading beneath the stage. Amid

silence and darkness Mercedes grasped her arm firmly, leading

unhesitatingly forward. Standing within the glare of light streaming

through the partially open door. Miss Norvell drew a sudden breath of

relief. The chairs and benches, piled high along the side of the great

room, left a secluded passageway running close against the wall. Along

this the two young women moved silently, catching merely occasional

glimpses of the wild revelry upon the other side of that rude barrier,

unseen themselves until within twenty feet of the street door. There

Miss Norvell hesitated her anxious eyes searching the mixed crowd of

dancers now for the first time fully revealed. Even as she gazed upon

the riot, shocked into silence at the inexpressible profligacy

displayed, and ashamed of her presence in the midst of it, a merry peal

of laughter burst through the parted lips of the Mexican dancer.