The clamor served to attract
Colonel Lopez, who was riding past.
"What's the matter here?" he demanded, forcing his horse through
the ring which had formed about El Demonio and his bundle. One
startled look and the colonel flung himself out of his saddle.
"Whose baby is that?" he demanded.
"I--I--Why, it's mine. I mean, I--" Branch's eyes were glued upon
the child in horrified fascination. He choked and stammered and
waved his hands impotently.
"Come, come! Speak up! What does this mean?" Lopez's voice grew
stern.
"She must have be-been asleep. I just grabbed--You know. I--"
Branch's face became suddenly stricken. "Look out!" he shouted,
hoarsely. "She's going to cry, or something."
He was right; the baby showed every sign of a firm determination
to voice her indignation at the outrage she had suffered. Her hand
stole out of her mouth, her fists closed, her face puckered
ominously. Lopez stooped, wrapped her in a sheet, then took her
awkwardly in his arms. He bent a blazing glance upon the
kidnapper, but he had no chance to speak before the storm of
wailings broke.
News of Leslie's exploit was spreading. Men were shouting and
gesticulating to their comrades to come and see El Demonio's
spoils. There was a great chattering and crowding and no little
smothered laughter. Meanwhile, Colonel Lopez was using every
desperate device to soothe the infant, but without success.
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