CHAPTER VI.
CARRIED INTO THE MOUNTAINS.
In vain, Frank attempted to organize a party to pursue the bandits. The citizens of Mendoza were completely terrorized, and they had no heart to follow the desperadoes out upon the plain, which was the bandits' own stamping ground.
Frank urged, entreated, begged, and finally grew furious, but he simply wasted his breath.
"No, no, señor," protested a Mexican. "You no find anybody dat chase Pacheco dis night—no, no, not much!"
"Pacheco? You don't mean to say—you can't mean——"
"Dat was Pacheco and his band, señor."
Frank groaned.
"Pacheco!" he muttered, huskily; "Pacheco, the worst wretch in all Mexico! He is utterly heartless, and the professor will—— But Pacheco is not the worst!" he suddenly gasped. "There is Carlos Merriwell, who must be one of the bandits. He may take a fancy to torture Professor Scotch simply because the professor is my guardian."
"What you say, señor?" asked the curious Mexican. "I do not understand all dat you speak."