the watchers could see that his rider was urging
him with voice and spur. Nearer and nearer they came until the foam
flecks shone white in the moonlight.

"By thunder," said O'Connor, suddenly; "it's the old villain, Monte. How
did he get out?"

"Who is it?" asked Harry, eagerly.

"Villamonte, the interpreter."

"Then the escape has been discovered."

"Undoubtedly."

"But what is he doing out here alone?"

There was a moment's silence while O'Connor watched the panting horse
come tearing on. Now he was almost abreast of the clump of trees, and
even the boys, with their untrained eyes, could make out their
persistent enemy, Villamonte.

"He's riding for the outpost to revoke this pass," said O'Connor, slowly
tapping the pocket that contained the paper. "They think that is the
best means of trapping us."

"It's all up with us then, if he gets there first," said Bert, "and we
have no horses to stop him."

"No, but we have something just as good," said O'Connor, turning quickly
to the man behind him; "let me have your Mauser, Pedro."

He took the rifle and stepped out into the open. Dropping on his knee,
he raised the weapon to his shoulder and seemingly without aiming at the
flying mark, fired. The boys shrank back involuntarily. Bloodshed, no
matter how necessary, was revolting. Still, they could not help watching
to see the result of O'Connor's shot. The horse pitched forward and
rolled over on his side, pinning his rider beneath him.

"Shoot the horse if he is not already dead, and bring in the man," said
O'Connor, coolly handing the rifle back. Two men started on a dog trot
for the fallen horse and rider.

"Is--is he dead?" asked Harry, hesitatingly.

"The horse or the man?"

"The man."

"No, there is nothing the matter with Monte more than a broken arm
perhaps. I shot at the horse. I am sorry--I would almost rather have
shot the man. But it had to be done."

CHAPTER XXIII

BACK TO THE MARIELLA

Perspiration dripped from the drooping ends of Villamonte's waxed
mustache as the men brought the discomforted interpreter before
O'Connor. He had suffered nothing worse than a few bruises, but he was
covered with dust and dirt and his expression was a strange mixture of
fear and amazement. He could not seem to comprehend what had happened.

"We couldn't lose you, could we, Monte?" said O'Connor laughing. "I am
sorry to have had to deprive you of your horse, but you were riding
faster than