She felt his hands on her neck, felt him pinion her down, as there came a sudden sound from outside, the sound of footsteps and the report of a shot, which echoed deafeningly round and round the tiny cave.

Then Pedro fell forward, slumping heavily against her.

Desperately Skye fought herself free of his body and, as she struggled to her feet, she saw the outline of someone standing in the doorway of the cave.

There was no need for the flames to leap higher to reveal the broadness of his shoulders or the proud carriage of his head.

She knew who it was, knew who had saved her!

She stumbled towards him, her breath coming sobbingly, her heart panting so suffocatingly that she could hardly gasp,

“You’ve come! Thank God – you’ve come!”

She clung to him, her face hidden for a moment against his shoulder.

The nightmare of the last few minutes had completely unnerved her.

She was trembling so that she could hardly stand and yet El Diablo did not put his arm around her.

“See if that man is dead,” he said in a voice that was sharp and imperative, to someone behind him, “and saddle those two horses.”

Vaguely, as she leaned against him fighting for control, Skye realised that he was angry and that she was recaptured – but she did not care.

She was only thankful beyond any expression of words that El Diablo had come in time.

Chapter 10

Skye’s teeth were chattering from the shock and for some minutes she could not think clearly.

She could only stand clinging to El Diablo, feeling that he was the one sane thing left in a world of horror and danger such as she had never imagined before in the whole of her uneventful life.

Yet, vaguely, despite the violent hammering of her heart and the throbbing of her head, she knew what was going on.

She heard a man’s voice saying,

“He’s dead all right,” and there was the sound of horses’ hoofs on the rocky track.

She felt El Diablo take her arm. It was the first time that he had touched her since his arrival, and he turned her round so that she faced the fire and beyond it the horses.

By the light of the flames she could see his men, their dark eyes curious as they stared at her. She was conscious that her shirt was ripped from the shoulder to the waist, a sleeve torn away from its socket.

Then, as they reached the first horse, El Diablo took his poncho from where he habitually carried it across the saddle and wrapped it around her shoulders.

It was of soft wool and she clutched the warmth of it round her gratefully as she felt herself swung up into the saddle of her own horse and one of the men came forward to lead it by the bridle.