eg, and almost came to the ground. On
the instant Tiburcio leaped down, and with eyes flashing fire, cried out
in a threatening tone to his astonished companion.

"You say you have never been beyond Tubac? where did you get this horse,
Cuchillo?"

"What business of yours, where I got him?" answered the outlaw,
surprised by a question to which his conscience gave an alarming
significance, "and what has my horse to do with the interrogatory you
have so discourteously put to me?"

"By the soul of Arellanos! I will know; or, if not--"

Cuchillo gave the spur to his horse, causing him to bound to one side--
while at the same time he attempted to unbuckle the straps that fastened
his carbine to the saddle; but Tiburcio sprang after, seized his hand,
and held it while he repeated the question:--

"How long have you owned this horse?"

"There, now! what curiosity!" answered Cuchillo, with a forced smile,
"still, since you are so eager to know--it is--it is about six weeks
since I became his master; you may have seen me with him, perhaps?"

In truth it was the first time Tiburcio had seen Cuchillo with this
horse--that, notwithstanding his bad habits of stumbling, was otherwise
an excellent animal, and was only used by his master on grand occasions.
For this very reason Tiburcio had not seen him before.

The ready lie of the outlaw dissipated, no doubt, certain suspicions
that had arisen in the mind of the young man, for the latter let go the
horseman's wrist, which up to this time he had held in his firm grasp.

"Pardon me!" said he, "for this rudeness; but allow me to ask you
another question?"

"Ask it!" said Cuchillo, "since we are friends; in fact, among friends,
one question less or more can make no difference."

"Who sold you this horse six weeks ago?"

"Por Dios, his owner, of course--a stranger, whom I did not know, but
who had just arrived from a long journey."

Cuchillo repeated these words in a slow and drawling manner, as if to
gain time for some hidden purpose.

"A stranger?" repeated Tiburcio; "pardon me! one more question?"

"Has the horse been stolen from _you_?" asked the outlaw in an ironical
tone.

"No--but let us think no more of my folly--pardon me, senor!"

"I pardon you," answered Cuchillo, in a tone of magnanimity, "the more
so," added he mentally, "that you will not go much further, you son of a
hound!"

Tiburcio, unsuspecting, was no longer on his guard, and the outlaw,
profiti