The girl stood erect, the revolver gripped in one hand, the other pressing back her companion into the recess.

She had lost all sense of fear in the determination to act; better risk all than surrender without a struggle.

Mendez fumbled along the wall, stumbled over some slight projection and swore; another step, and his groping hand would touch her.

He never took the step, but was whirled against the side wall, with the cold barrel of a revolver pressed against his cheek.

A stern, sibilant whisper held him motionless.
"If you move I fire, _senor_; raise your hands--quick!" He responded mechanically, too profoundly astounded to dream of resistance.