"But that information is not quite enough to suit us," objected one of the Mexicans.
"You might go your own way, then," sneered Gato. "I can find other men who are not so curious. However, I will say that, when daylight comes, we will hide not far from here. None of you know the Americanos by sight. I will point them out to you as they pass by in the daylight."
"And then—what?" pressed one of the rough men. "Are we to kill the Americanos from ambush?"
"Eh?" gasped Tom Reade, with a start.
"If you have to," nodded Pedro Gato. "Though, in that case, I shall call you clumsy. I shall pay you just four times as much if you bring them to me as prisoners. Remember that. Before I despatch these infernal Gringos I shall want the fun of tormenting them."
"Oh, you will eh?" thought Tom, with a slight shudder.
"I heard, Gato," ventured one of the Mexicans, incautiously, "that one of the Americanos beat you fearfully—that he threw you down and stamped on you."
"It is a lie!" uttered Gato, leaping to his feet, his face distorted with rage. "It is a lie, I tell you. The man does not live who can beat me in a fight."
"I was struck with amazement at the tale," admitted the Mexican who had brought about this outburst.
"And well you might be," continued Gato, savagely. "But the Americanos procured my discharge. And that was humiliation enough."