en using you up stage in the Mexican
sets? You're perfect. How did you ever get your hair so slick and
black?"

"I've been studying make-ups since I joined the Lunar Company," he told
her.

"How about your Spanish? Is it good enough to pass muster?"

"I learned to jabber it when I was a year old before I did English."

"Then you'll do. I defy even Harrison to recognize you."

He gave her his Mexican bow. "Gracias, senorita."

CHAPTER XVI

THE HEAVY PAYS A DEBT

When Threewit and Farrar reached Noche Buena, Pasquale was absent from
camp, but Culvera made them suavely welcome.

"Senor Yeager has recovered and was called away unexpectedly on
business," he explained; adding with his lip smile, "He will be
desolated to have missed you."

"He is better, then?"

"Indeed, quite his self. He nearly died from gunshot wounds, but unless
he suffers a relapse he is entirely out of present danger."

"Shouldn't have thought it would have been safe to travel yet," Farrar
returned.

He was uneasy in his mind, sensing something of mocking irony in the
manner of the Mexican. It was strange that Yeager, wounded to death as
his letter had said, was able in two days to be up and around again.

"We were anxious to have him stop, but he was in a hurry. Personally I
did my best to get him to stay." Culvera's smile glittered
reminiscently: "The truth is that he thought our climate unhealthy. He
was afraid of heart failure."

Threewit scoffed openly. "Absurd. The man is the finest physical
specimen I ever saw. If you had ever seen him on the back of an outlaw
bronc, you'd know his heart was all right."

The door of the room opened and Harrison came in. He stopped, mouth open
with surprise at sight of the Americans.

"Some of Mr. Yeager's anxious friends come down to inquire about his
health, Harrison. Did he seem to you healthy last time you saw him?" the
Mexican asked maliciously.

Like a thunderclap the prizefighter broke loose in a turbid stream of
profanity. It boiled from his lips like molten lava from a crater. The
raucous words poured forth from a heart furious with rage. The man was
beside himself. He raved like a madman--and the object of his invective
was Stephen Yeager.

And all the time the man cursed he stamped painfully about the room, a
sight to wonder at. His face was so swollen, so bruised and discolored,
that he was hardly recognizable. He had managed to creep into another
suit of clothes after