She wondered for one moment how they would be able to find their way back over the tortuous path with its deep gullies and narrow footholds.

Then, as they moved forward, she realised that they were going downhill following the stream.

The moon was rising and the stars were gaining in strength.

As Skye grew accustomed to the darkness, it was possible to see the bushes and trees silhouetted against the luminous indigo of the night.

But El Diablo riding ahead and the men following moved like cats, sure of their way, finding a foothold as if by instinct.

The shrubs and bushes became thicker and more profuse and after they had travelled for about twenty minutes they reached the plain.

Skye knew then that Pedro had so very nearly succeeded in getting her to safety. Jācara could not be far away, perhaps only an hour’s ride!

At that moment with a feeling of utter exhaustion, she felt that she could not go on any farther. Only by a supreme effort of will had she kept herself in the saddle as she had been led down the mountainside.

Now the thought of the long ride ahead was too much to be endured.

She had eaten practically nothing all day – it had been a gruelling test of strength to climb those tortuous paths under the hot sun and then to experience the terror and horror of Pedro’s attack upon her.

She had gripped the saddle with both hands while her horse was being led.

Now she let go.

She started to say, “I can’t go any farther – ”, but the words died on her lips.

She toppled forward into a deep endless darkness that seemed to swallow her up.

A long time later she felt water being forced between her lips and something wet and cool against her forehead.

She tried to fight against her return to consciousness, but the hand that held the cup was insistent.

“Drink!” a voice commanded her and she was too weak to disobey.

She opened her eyes to find El Diablo looking down at her. His arm supported her shoulders.

“I – am – sorry,” the words came stammering from her lips.

“Are you all right now?”

She felt that she was hardly alive, that unconsciousness was so near and that she could slip back into it if she wished. But there was something imperative about him that forced her to make the effort to recover.

“I am – all right,” she lied.

She thought piteously that she must get on her horse again.

She wondered how she could keep upright, but there was no need for her to worry herself. El Diablo picked her up in his arms and, as if she weighed no more than a child, swung her onto the front of his saddle and climbed up behind her.