valley. Juarez followed the direction of the leader's look with a keen
gaze.

"I was sure that I saw some one slipping through the undergrowth on the
opposite side over there," Jim finally said, "but I could not make sure
whether it was a man or some sort of animal."

"I noticed the bushes shaking," said Juarez, "but I did not see
anything."

"Might have been a brown bear," hazarded Jo.

"They do have them in this range," put in Tom.

"Perhaps it is the bear that we hunted for two days on the other slope,"
said Juarez, "and he has come to give himself up."

"We had better keep our eyes open," advised Jim, though he did not take
the trouble to unsling his rifle. "Jo, you and Tom watch the upper side,
Juarez will take care of the trail in front."

"All right, boss," said Juarez, cheerfully.

"How much reward, captain, for the first glimpse of the lost child?"
inquired Jo.

Jim paid no attention to this sally, but kept his eye on the trail
ahead. The trees were quite thick on either side of the trail and as
dusk was coming on, it was difficult to make out any object clearly.

Just as Jim rode around a turn in the trail, Caliente reared and leaped
to one side and a less skillful rider would have been thrown.

"Easy, old boy," said the rider, patting his horse's neck. Caliente
stood trembling and snorting and watching a curious object that was
struggling up the bank towards the trail.

It was hard to tell what it was, whether man or beast and the dusk only
served to make it more obscure. Then the object scrambled up on to the
trail and Jim at once recognized the dwarf Mexican with his high-crowned
sombrero and his velvet suit richly slashed. With his crooked back and
one eye, he was anything but a prepossessing-looking creature. Caliente,
when he, too, recognized who it was, put back his ears and rushed with
bared teeth for the Mexican.

Spitting out a curse, the greaser jumped to one side with a marked
agility, and Jim succeeded after a struggle in bringing his furious
steed to terms, but he had his hands full and there were not very many
men who could manage Caliente when he got into one of his rages.

"Hi! Manuel," (every Mexican was Manuel to the boys), cried Jim, "look
out for my Tiger, he wants to eat that velvet suit of yours."

"Si, Senor," called Manuel from a safe station on a granite rock. "He is
a tiger as your Honor says."

One would have expected to hear the crooked little greaser speak in a