So sudden had been the change in affairs, that for a moment the two Broncho Rider Boys stood stupefied; but, as Don Rafael slowly retreated, their wits returned.
“Grab him!” shouted Donald.
At the cry Don Rafael turned quickly upon the boys, revolver in hand.
“So,” he exclaimed, “this is your work, too! Well, it is your last!”
Slowly he raised his weapon as though to enjoy the full measure of his revenge. Then, as his finger pressed the trigger, there was another crash of rifles. Both boys threw themselves flat upon the
floor, and the bullet from Don Rafael’s revolver buried itself in the adobe wall.
Before he could take a second aim, a tall figure in peon’s garb sprang into the room.
It was Pancho Villa.
One glance told the story. Without a moment’s warning his revolver cracked, and Don Rafael pitched forward to the floor, dead.
The next instant a dozen Americans, headed by Billie, rushed into the room.