“The scent grows hot!” muttered Hodge.
“And did you never hear your father called anything but Silent Tongue? What did your mother call him?”
“Most times she called him dearest, but sometimes she called him——”
“Yes, yes—she called him what?”
“Juan.”
“I knew it!” broke from Hodge. “We’re on the right trail, Merry!”
“At last!” exclaimed Frank, in deep satisfaction. “Little Felicia, we’ll take you to your father without delay.”
CHAPTER XI.
JUAN DELORES.
They left the big ruffian lying there in the darkness of the timber. Little Felicia was placed on the back of the mustang, beside which Frank walked, while Bart led the way along the path.
Having passed from the dark timber, they came out near the pretty little lake, which was reflecting the golden glory of the lingering sunset, flung up against the mountain-bordered sky. The crimson and amber and purple were fading from the heavens as the somber wing of night spread over the world.