“We want you, Pachuca,” said Hard, peremptorily. “Come quietly and don’t force us to use our guns—we don’t want to.”
Pachuca slid gracefully from his horse and took a few steps nearer the edge. “What’s the trouble?” he demanded. “I won’t come over till I know what you want. We’ve got our guns, too.”
“He’s a cool one!” murmured Merriam, admiringly. While Pachuca had drawn the attention of the Americans by his sudden move in their direction, his two friends had ridden up behind him and stood with their guns ready for action. It looked like a deadlock. Scott dropped his gun to his side.
“All right, put up your guns,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “We’ll talk it over.”
The Mexicans got the idea if not the words and lowered their weapons.
“You know what I want you for,” Scott went on, angrily. “Where is she?”
“She?” Pachuca’s assumption of ignorance was masterly. It almost convinced Hard. “Who do you mean?”
“I mean Miss Street. You’ve kidnapped her or else your friends in Mendoza’s car have and you’re on your way to join them. We want to know where. Come, you can’t get away with it.”
“I’ve not seen the girl since that night at Athens—yes, I saw her to-night for a moment but I did not speak to her. I am here on business of my own with these gentlemen. If you have an officer of the law with you I’ll show him my papers. If you haven’t, I’ll go on. If you shoot, we’ll shoot.”
“Anyone would think he had papers,” murmured Hard to Merriam.