Professor Scott, the captain, Don and Ned were all sitting around a fire in the living room discussing the next move to be made. To their intense disappointment they had not found the missing boys upon their return to the ranch, nor had they come across a single trace on their homeward journey. They had just decided that a more vigorous hunt must be started in the morning when Yappi hastily entered the living room.
“There is a large fire at the ranch of Senorita Mercedes, senor,” he informed Ned.
The young man jumped to his feet in dismay. “Oh, I hope those fellows haven’t set her ranch on fire!” he groaned. “Let’s see what is up.”
The entire party ran to the back door and looked across the plains in the direction of the Mercedes ranch. Just as the mestizo had said, the sky in that direction was red and they could see the flames against the sky. But it was several feet south of the house.
“It isn’t the house,” decided Ned. “Perhaps they are just burning some old rubbish.”
“Why should she select a hilltop to burn rubbish on?” asked the professor, sensibly. “Does she usually burn things at night?”
“No,” admitted Ned. “There must surely be something wrong. Yappi, the horses!”
The mestizo sprang around the house and went to the barn, from which he soon led mounts for all of them. He was instructed to stay at the ranch with the cook, in case the boys should return, and then the others threw themselves on the animals and started off. Ned and Don rode well in front, their anxiety making them impatient, while the professor and the captain, who were not riders of note, lagged somewhat.
It was not a long journey to the ranch of the senorita, but to the boys it seemed long, and when at last they ascended the last hill they drew a breath of relief. They were now near enough to see that the blazing beacon was a tar barrel, and the circumstances became more puzzling than ever. But before they had much time to wonder about it they had topped the rise and were looking down on the scene below.
The light from the blazing barrel showed them a curious scene. The outlaws had realized that they must make one last desperate assault, and at the present moment they were making it. Four men were close to the front door, flat in the yard, a log rolled before them as a shield, over which they were firing at the door, splintering the wood badly. They were rolling the log before them as they advanced, and hoped in this manner to get close enough to the door to make a determined rush. From the interior of the house came occasional flashes of fire from three rifles and from the corner of the barn came another.