ome by his emotions he remains for some time silent,
scarce heeding the remarks of his comrade. One, however, restores his
attention.

"I tolt ye so," says Walt. "See! yonner's the skunk himself astride o'
a mule at the tail o' the gang."

Hamersley directs his eyes to the rear of the outstretched rank. There,
sure enough, is a man on muleback, dressed differently from the
troopers. The coarse woollen tilma, and straw hat, he remembers as
having been worn by one of Mirander's male domestics. He does not
identify the man. But Walt's recollection of his rival is clearer, and
he has no doubt that he on the mule is Manuel. Nor, for that matter,
has Hamersley. The peon's presence is something to assist in the
explanation. It clears up everything.

Hamersley breathes hard as the dark shadows sweep through his soul. For
a long time absorbed in thought, he utters scarce an ejaculation. Only
after the lancer troop has passed, its rearmost files just clearing the
alignment of the copse, he gasps out, in a voice husky as that of one in
the act of being strangled,--

"They're going straight for the place. O God!"

"Yes," rejoins the ex-Ranger, in a tone like despondent, "Thar boun'
thar for sartint. The darned creetur's been tempted by the blood-money
set on Kumel Miranda's head, an' air too like to git it. They'll grup
him, sure; an's like as not gie him the garota. Poor gentleman! He air
the noblest Mexikin I iver sot eyes on, an' desarves a better fate. As
for the ole doc, he may get off arter sarvin' a spell in prison, an' the
saynorita--"

A groan from Hamersley interrupts the remark. His comrade, perceiving
how much he is pained, modifies what he meant to say.

"Thar's no need to be so much afeard o' what may happen to her. She
ain't goin' to be rubbed out, anyhow; an' if she hasn't no brother to
purtect her, I reckon she's got a frien' in you, Frank. An' hyar's
another o' the same, as they say in the Psalms o' Davit."

Walt's words have a hopeful sound. Hamersley is cheered by them, but
replies not. He only presses the hand of his comrade in silent and
grateful grasp.

"Yis," continues the ex-Ranger with increased emphasis, "I'd lay down my
life to save that young lady from harum, as I know you'd lay down yourn.
An' thet air to say nothin' o' my own gurl. This chile ain't niver
been much guv to runnin' arter white wheemen, an' war gen'rally content
to put up wi' a squaw. But sech as them!