“Those babies!” she gasped, clutching Hard.
“I don’t believe they’re in there,” he whispered. “I don’t see a sign of life—not even the burro.”
“Henry, they’ve gone to town to spend the money that Mr. Scott gave them this morning!”
“That’s it. They’ve taken the burro along to bring home the supplies. Don’t say anything; let them find it out. It’s not our funeral.”
It was soon apparent that the Soria family had gone—root and branch. There was no response either to Angel’s rude salutation or to the search which followed.
“They’re in a hole,” chuckled Hard, shrewdly. “I’ll bet you a dollar that they meant to leave us here and pay the Sorias to hold us. Now, they’ve either got to take us along or leave a guard for us, which is what they’ll probably do.”
“You don’t think there’s any chance of his letting us go?”
“Does he look like a chap who lets anything get away from him? Well, I’m glad he’s worried, anyhow.”
Angel Gonzales was worried, no mistake about that. The Sorias had upset his plans exceedingly. He did not want to burden himself with prisoners; his horses, fed only on the scant growth of the land, were in no condition to carry double. He did not want to leave any of his men behind, because he expected to need every one of them in his proposed campaign. On the other hand, he hated to give up the dazzling prospect of a ransom. He had never played the ransom game, but he knew the ropes and he longed to try.
“Who’s that coming up the road?” demanded Cortes, breaking off a dialogue with his chief.