harsh croaking voice, but instead it had a rich sonorous quality.

"Do you know where there is any water in this country?" asked Jo. "We
are as dry as a desert."

"Certainly, Senor, I will show you," replied Manuel. (It was true that
Manuel spoke in Spanish of which language the boys had a working
knowledge, due to their sojourn in the southwest. But I shall put his
words in English.) "Where is Senor Juarez?" inquired the dwarf. "I do
not see him."

"The Senor is still with us," replied Jim, gravely, "but you cannot see
him on account of the dusk, but you might hear him," he added in a lower
tone.

It was true that Juarez was growling to himself about the greaser for
whom you know he had a cordial antipathy, a feeling which was
reciprocated by the Mexican.

"Lead on, Manuel," urged Jim, "we want to make camp before morning."

"But, Senor, the tiger will eat me up," objected the Mexican.

"I will take care of Caliente. He won't bite you. Go ahead."

"Si, Senor," assented Manuel.

Then he jumped down from the rock and took the trail at a discreet
distance ahead of Jim's horse, who was held in check by his rider though
his temper seemed in no wise abated. There was something sinister in the
figure of the Mexican as he led the way down the trail.

All in black, except the gray of his hat with its golden cord and the
tinsel of his clothes. There was something malignant in his make-up and
even the unimaginative Jim was affected by the presence of the Mexican,
while Juarez was very uneasy, and asked Jo and Tom to allow him to move
up next to the Captain. This they did, though it left Jo as rear guard
on that rocky trail.

He seemed quite isolated but he had become sufficiently enured to danger
and though he kept a wary eye, he was not nervous. The boys had
unholstered their pistols and Juarez kept a straight eye on the moving
shadow in the darkness ahead. At the first sign of attack or treachery,
he was going to get that particular Manuel.

"I've got my eye on the little varmint," said Juarez in a low voice to
Jim. "He may be leading us into an ambush."

"Oh, I guess not," said Jim, with a note of hesitation in his voice. "We
have got to find water anyway. The horses are suffering for it, and this
beggar can show us where we can locate it."

Just then Manuel threw up his hand with a shrill whistle that had every
malignant intention in it. Juarez raised his pistol just ready to fire,
when the Mexican laughed