f those blankets into strips. We've
got to tie their hands and feet and gag them. Shuck your coat, Threewit.
You've got to wear this fellow's blouse and sombrero. You, too, Frank.
It's Manuel's castaways for you. Move lively, boys. This is surely going
to be our busy evening."

"What's the programme?" asked Farrar, doing what he was told to do.

Steve explained briefly. "Old Pasquale has got Ruth Seymour here at his
house. He intends to marry her to-morrow. I don't mean he shall. A good
friend of mine is entertaining the old scoundrel to-night and some of
the other high moguls in camp. My notion is to slip into old Gabriel's
headquarters and rescue Ruth."

"Has Ruth been here ever since she came down with Harrison that time he
lied to her about you being wounded?" asked Threewit. "We were told you
butted in and took her home."

"I did. Harrison went to Los Robles later and brought her by force. He
was looking for me and bumped into her by chance. His idea was to marry
her as soon as they reached camp. But Pasquale balked. He took a fancy
to Ruth himself."

While Yeager talked his fingers were busy every moment. From long usage
he was expert at roping and tying. Many a time he had thrown the diamond
hitch while packing on mountain trails. His skill served him well now.
He trussed the guards as if they had been packs for the saddle, binding
them hand and feet so that they could not move.

"We heard that an American had been killed in camp to-day. We've been
worried for fear it might have been you, Steve," said the camera man.

"It was Harrison. He tried to sell Pasquale out to Farrugia and the old
fox got his letter. Pasquale accused him of his treachery and had him
assassinated on the spot. Better pull that sombrero lower over your
face, Threewit. And keep your hands out of the light as much as you can.
They're too white for this section of the country."

"What if some one talks to me? I can't put over their lingo."

"Just grunt. I'll do what talking is necessary. All right. We'll make
tracks, boys."

They stepped outside. Yeager relocked the door and drove the staple back
into the wood with the end of his rifle by steady pressure and not by
blows.

Steve led them through the bear grass into the pasture and across it to
the river-bank. Here, under the heavy shadows of the overhanging
cottonwoods, he outlined his plans.

Threewit spoke aloud his fears. "But, good Lord! what chance have we
got? It's a cinch