Waring shook his head.
Ramon's eyes grew desperate. "Señor," he pleaded, "take me with you! I cannot go back. I will be your man—follow you, even into the Great Beyond. You will not lose the way."
And as Ramon spoke he touched the little crucifix on his breast.
"Where did you find that?" asked Waring.
"In the Placeta Burro; near the house of Pedro Salazar."
Waring nodded. "Has your horse had water?"
"No, señor. I did not stop."
"Take him back to the water-hole. Or, here! Crawl in there and rest up.
You are all in. I'll take care of the cayuse."
When Waring returned to the chaparral, Ramon was asleep, flat on his back, his arms outspread and his mouth open. Waring touched him with his boot. Ramon muttered. Waring stooped and pulled him up.
Within the hour five rurales disembarked from a box-car and crossed to the water-hole, where one of them dismounted and searched for tracks. Alert for the appearance of the gringo, they rode slowly toward the chaparral. The enclosure was empty. After riding a wide circle round the brush, they turned and followed the tracks toward the eastern hills, rein-chains jingling and their silver-trimmed buckskin jackets shimmering in the sun.