"It was on this cliff here that we had the encounter," explained Greg, as they rowed back and forth beneath the bluff. "The man's body should be here somewhere. There seems to be no particular current at this spot to carry it away. I think we'll find Jose Murillo within thirty yards of this locality."
There was a harsh, unpleasant laugh, and a voice cried:
"Señor Carkaire ees right. Jose Murillo ees witheen thirtee yards of heem thees minute."
Looking up in astonishment, the trio in the boat beheld the Mexican standing on the brink of the cliff. His clothes were somewhat wrinkled and soiled, seeming to need cleansing and pressing. But the man was there in the flesh, grinning at them in a malicious, triumphant manner.
Greg Carker smothered an exclamation of amazement.
"Evidently you were mistaken in thinking the man drowned," said Frank quietly. "We've had all this trouble for nothing."
"Oh, eet ees not so easee to keel Jose Murillo!" sneered the rascal. "Where he fall in the lake the water ees not so deep. He stand up, with hees head out. He walk to the shore. He see Carkaire look for heem, and he keep steel. Now he look for Carkaire. Better have a care, gringo, for Jose Murillo weel find the time to strike you yet! Adios! He weel see you lataire!"
The man turned and hurried away.