s," rejoined
Mr. Merrill, "and no way of reaching them, now that the wires are cut.
If only I dared leave the place, I'd ride to Rosario, but the instant
we vacated it, those yellow jackals down yonder would come swarming in."

"Dot is right," agreed Geisler, with a frown, "dey know, vorse luck,
aboudt der amount of goldt vot is stored in der strong room. I bet you
your life, dey iss yust votching for a chance to make idt a addack py
der mine."

"That's my idea, too, Geisler, and---- Hullo, who's this coming?"

CHAPTER XXI.

AN ACT OF TREACHERY.

He pointed inquiringly down the hillside at a young figure on horseback
that was wearily climbing the declivity.

"He voss come a goot long vay, alretty," commented Geisler, taking in
the dust-covered appearance of horse and rider. The gray powder, which
covered both, was visible even at that distance.

"He's an American," went on Mr. Merrill, "a young man, too. I don't
recollect ever having seen him before round here. Wonder what he
wants?"

While he spoke, the rider came rapidly forward, and presently drew rein
beside the miner and his super. He was a young man, tall, well
muscled, and with a well-poised head, but his eyes were set rather too
close, and there was something about that clean-shaven chin that rather
made you distrust him.

"I've beaten those kids to it," he muttered to himself, as his eyes
first took in the two solitary figures standing at the gate. "The rest
will be easy."

Bob Harding, for it was the exiled West Pointer, could hardly help
smiling, in fact, as he comprehended the simplicity of his task.

"Good morning," he said in a pleasant voice, as he rode up. "Is this
the Esmeralda Mine?"

"It is," rejoined Mr. Merrill, "and I am its owner. Come in and rest
yourself, won't you? You look fagged."

It was the hearty, cordial greeting of one American in a strange land
to a fellow countryman. Bob Harding accepted with alacrity. He
slipped from his saddle as if he were weary to death, and, indeed, his
travel-stained clothes supported that idea. If the two men facing him,
though, could have seen him scattering dust in liberal proportions over
himself and his horse a short time before, they might not have fallen
into his trap so easily. With quirt and spur, he had worked his horse
into a sweat. At such tricks, Bob Harding was an adept.

But of all this, of course, neither Mr. Merrill nor his super had any
idea. To their uns