te, the camp cook,
following Jack, who had gone to the little New Mexican town to meet
the party from the East.

The writing was cramped and foreign, as if the pen were wielded by a
hand more accustomed to form German script than English letters. The
missive was brief:

"Sir, this is to inform you that Mr. John Hampton is held in a secure
place. One hundred thousand dollars must be paid for his release. A
man riding alone must bring the money in United States bills of one
thousand dollars each to the Calomares ranch two weeks from today. He
must wear a white handkerchief in his hat."

While the others read, Jack turned to Gabby Pete and said
authoritatively:

"Pete, you heard me say something just now about my father being held
for ransom. I believe you are my friend." Gabby Pete nodded
violently. "Well, forget what you heard. If anybody asks you, remember
that father has gone East on business."

"Sure, boy," said Pete. "I'm a tombstone. Well, me an' Angel Face
here," and he slapped his horse affectionately, whereat Angel Face
reared and pranced, giving the lie to her name, "we may as well git
started fur camp so's to feed you when you arriv."

Jack laid a restraining hand on Pete's knee. "Wait just a minute,
Pete. Do you know where the Calomares ranch is located?"

Pete nodded. "Aw, sure," he said, "that must be Don Fernandez y
Calomares, down in Ol' Mexico. That's a good hundred mile acrost the
border. It's in a valley in them mountains," he added, pointing to the
darkening southern horizon.

"And who is this Don?"

"Waal," drawled Gabby Pete, plaintively, "I stick to hum so much o'
the time I never git to talk to nobody nor hear the noos. But seems to
me I did hear onct about him. Yes, sir, somebody sez as how Don
Fernandez lives in a palace in that wilderness jest like a king of
old, with armed ree-strainers or whatever you calls 'em----"

"Retainers, Pete," said Jack, suppressing a smile.

"Yes, that's the word. An' this feller what tol' me sez as how he's
very proud and haughty-like an' has a beyootiful daughter,
an'----an'----"

Pete dropped his voice, and paused, eyeing Remedios, the Mexican in
the nearby flivver.

"Think he kin hear me," he whispered.

"Guess not," said Jack. "Why?" He, too, looked toward Remedios. The
latter had his back to them and was blowing indolent wreaths of smoke
from a brown paper cigarette.

"I don't trust that feller, that's all," whispered Gabby Pete
hoarsely.