ared across the canyon; and then the
former chuckled and whispered something in his companion's ear. "That
was why he lugged his rope along! He's just idiot enough to want
a souveneer an' plaything at the risk of losing the game. Come
on!--they'll tumble to what's up an' get away if we don't hustle."

When the two punchers cautiously and noiselessly entered the crack
and felt their way along its rock walls they heard fluent swearing in
Spanish by the man who worked the ghost, and who could not understand
its sudden ambition to take root. It was made painfully clear to him
a moment later when a pair of brawny hands reached out of the darkness
behind him and encircled his throat a hand's width below his gleaming
cigarette. Another pair used cords with deftness and despatch and he was
left by himself to browse upon the gag when all his senses returned.

Hopalong, with Red inconsiderately stepping on his heels, felt his
way along the wall of the crevice, alert and silent, his Colt nestling
comfortably in his right hand, while the left was pushed out ahead
feeling for trouble. As they worked farther away from the canyon distant
voices could be heard and they forthwith proceeded even more cautiously.
When Hopalong came to the second bend in the narrow passage he peered
around it and stopped so abruptly that Red's nose almost spread itself
over the back of his head. Red's indignation was all the harder to bear
because it must bloom unheard.

In a huge, irregular room, whose roof could not be discerned in the dim
light of the few candles, five men were resting in various attitudes
of ease as they discussed the events of the night and tried to compute
their profits. They were secure, for Manuel, having by this time put
away the ghost and megaphone, was on duty at the mouth of the crevice,
and he was as sensitive to danger as a hound.

"The risk is not much and the profits are large," remarked Pedro, in
Spanish. "We must burn a candle for the repose of the soul of Carlos
Martinez. It is he that made our plans safe. And a candle is not much
when we--"

"Hands up!" said a quiet voice, followed by grim commands. The Mexicans
jumped as if stung by a scorpion, and could just discern two of the
rowdy gringo cow-punchers in the heavy shadows of the opposite wall, but
the candle light glinted in rings on the muzzles of their six-shooters.
Had Manuel betrayed them? But they had little time or inclination for
cogitation regarding Manu