ulky body wilted. He
sagged to the floor with a hiccupping sound.

"Get up!" snapped the Texan.

There was no response. The Kid felt of Stover's heart and straightened
up with a low whistle.

"Dead," he muttered. "Scared to death. Weak heart--just as I thought."

"Did yuh shoot the big brute?" asked Harry, who had pushed his body
through the window and slipped into the room.

"His guilty conscience killed him," explained the Texan. "Yo' saved my
life, son, by throwin' down on Don Floristo. Yo' got him between the
shirt buttons."

"I wanted to shoot long before," said Harry, "but I remembered--and
waited until yuh said the word. Yuh shore stopped that derringer o'
Stover's."

"Wheah's the guard?"

"Tied up outside."

"_Bueno_. I rode down heah slow, so yo'd have plenty o' time to get
posted. I suspected treachery of some kind to-night. But it was a
surprise to see the majah heah. What time is it?"

"After two. The moon's gone down. Where to, now?"

"To Mariposa. We can get theah by dawn, and if the boys are ready we
can turn the trick."

"Then let's go, Kid!"

Five minutes later the two were pounding the trail northward toward the
Rio Grande!

CHAPTER XV

GOLIDAY'S CHOICE

The east was streaked with pink and orange when The Kid and Harry
Thomas rode into the sleeping town of Mariposa. The little Mexican
city, they discovered, however, was not entirely asleep.

At the northern edge of the city, on the stretch of sand between the
huddled adobes and the sandy waters of the Rio, things had taken place.

Harry and The Kid rode up to see a camp fire twinkling in the bottom of
an arroyo just out of sight of Mariposa. Near it was the herd of six
hundred steers, some down and resting, others milling restlessly about
under the watchful eyes of three shadowy riders.

"Are those the don's men?" asked Harry in astonishment.

"Too far north," chuckled The Kid. "Look down by the fire!"

Tied securely with lariat rope, four figures reclined near the smoking
embers. They were not Americans. The two grinning newcomers saw that,
even before they made out their swarthy faces. The prisoners wore the
dirty velvet jackets and big sombreros of Mexico.

"Theah's the don's men," said The Kid, laughing. "Come on!"

He rode toward one of the mounted shadows and whistled softly. The man
turned. It was just light enough to make out his features. It was
Anton.

"By golly, Kid," he yelped o