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60 SINGLE BURNER hung from a beam in the center of the room. Under it was the great copper shield of Zachu, "Lord of the Reptiles." A dull glow—red, as from smoldering embers—filled the place.

On a couch, covered with the skin of the spotted leopardo, at the far end of the room, was Senor Skinny wrapped in the slimy folds of a monster serpent, its head drawn back, the neck arched, jaws wide apart and reaching toward the parted lips of Senor Skinny, who stared with entranced vision, unable to move, into the fiendish eyes that to him seemed to be the caressing, inviting eyes of "Senorita Serpente" burning with love!

Crouched at the other end of the room was th' Ramblin' Kid—his will battling with the demon will of another great snake coiled before him and that blocked his way to the couch on which Senor Skinny was lying; the frightful head was reared, ready to strike—swaying from side to side—held back only by the look in the eyes of th' Ramblin' Kid—

Padre Algonza could not move, scarcely could he breathe.

The venomous mouth of the great snake bending above Senor Skinny was lowered slowly, surely, toward the face of the cowpuncher Americano. Another heart-beat, and the slimy gums would be glued to his lips and the soul be drained from his body—

"Serrano!"

The word whipped from the tongue of th' Ramblin' Kid like the stab of a dagger.

"Serrano—Daughter of the Snake!"

There was irresistible command in the tone. The thick folds about Senor Skinny trembled, the ugly, terrifying, head was turned toward th' Ramblin' Kid—in the eyes was all the fury and madness of passion arrested, and, with the look, a terror unspeakable.

"Serrano!"

Again, not loudly, but to be obeyed, came the word from the smiling lips of th' Ramblin' Kid.

At the interruption, rage tore at the monster serpent coiled and barring the path of th' Ramblin' Kid to Senor Skinny and the snake that held him enthralled on the couch—the ugly wedge-shaped head was drawn back—back—that the fangs might leap with the sureness of death into the flesh of the slim young Americano before it.

For the first time, th' Ramblin' Kid's hand flashed to the gun at his hip—

"Serrano—that you may live—Zacaratta, the Aztecca, your malvado aliento—must die!"

As th' Ramblin' Kid spoke, the gun crashed.

The great snake before him lashed wildly, futilely, about on the floor. A hazelike smoke for a moment enveloped it. The overwhelming fumes that come from the gila monster, the reptile diablo, when it is dying, filled the room. The six-foot length of the serpent shuddered convulsively and grew quiet—

And "Lobo," the Yaqui, lay dead, with a bullet in his brain!

"It was the snake—I swear it—th' Ramblin' Kid shot," Padre Algonza afterwards declared, and Padre Algonza would not lie. "Yet, it was 'Lobo,' the Yaqui—that died!"

Even the roar of the gun did not break the spell that held Senor Skinny—his mouth open, parted in an idiotic grin, still eagerly reaching for the touch of the hideous serpent-jaws bending toward him.

Breathless, Padre Algonza watched.

Th' Ramblin' Kid stepped forward, over the body of "Lobo"—quickly went to the couch—

"Serrano—your Master!" tenderly, almost as a lover speaks, the words came from his lips, smiling, gently, sadly.

"—Without fear—"

The open hand of th' Ramblin' Kid shot out and slapped the dripping mouth of the serpent.

"—Without desire—"

Again the hand crashed against the ugly head, and with a laugh—not of mirth, not of anger, not of passion—th' Ramblin' Kid turned away!

The sinuous coils tightened convulsively, then loosened, the head drooped, a haze like that which had enshrouded the other covered the forms on the couch—Senor Skinny and the reptile—and out of the mist came suddenly the agonized scream of a woman, filled with torture, and "Senorita Serpente," the Cortesana Serrano, stood up—swayed—and fell sobbing and moaning to the floor! Her lips were bruised as if they had been struck and blood was at the side of her mouth.

The great serpent was gone!

Senor Skinny, dazed, his eyes staring wildly about, started dizzily up from the couch.

"Where in hell—what's happened?"

"Leave quickly!" Padre Algonza commanded.

Th' Ramblin' Kid paused at the door.

On her knees, her body rocking back and forth, her hands clasping the Crucifix that hung from Padre Algonza's girdle, "Senorita Serpente"—Cortesana Serrano—piteously called:

"Tolteci! Tolteci—my own! Son of the Flame—the White One!"

Th' Ramblin' Kid stepped to her side, looked tenderly down into the upturned tear-drenched eyes; a smile of infinite sadness trembled on his lips as he whispered:

"Not yet, Serrano! Not yet..."

HAT NIGHT, not waiting for the dawn, th' Ramblin' Kid and Senor Skinny rode to the North.

The body of "Lobo" Padre Algonza left where it lay; "Senorita Serpente," the Cortesana Serrano, he took to the Mission at Magdalena. Never again did "Senorita Serpente" dance in the ranchito at Socorro, not from that day has any person gone into, the casa La Queratto.

In the afterglow, when the sun has dipped beyond the wild crags of Del Christo range, and darkness is over the Llano Sonora, "Senorita Serpente" slips out from the Mission and by the giant yucca stands and looks hungrily—her eyes no longer burning with the passion that lured men to the casa La Queratto, but instead glowing with the soft luster of undying love—toward the White Star that hangs over the top of Sentinel Mountain, far to the North.

There Padre Algonza found her the night after the Fiesta of the Penitentes.

"Padre Algonza—" "Senotita Serpente's" lips quivered with a smile, heart-tearing in its wistfulness, "WlilWill [sic] He come? Will Tolteci—my Own—the White one—Son of the Flame—come again to Serrano?"

The answer brought hope to the upturned eyes—

"He will come, Daughter of Sorrow—" the arms of the priest drew the head of the girl to his breast, "—Tolteci, your Own, will come when your Soul—having been proved—can meet Him—"

Padre Algonza paused, the last words were a whisper—

"—Without fear; without desire!"