"Who's there?" inquired a voice from within, in Spanish.
"The Black Kings of The Pass," rejoined Ramon in a loud tone.
The door creaked open and a squat figure stood revealed. But the door opener was not a Mexican, but a white man, and no very favorable specimen of his race, either.
"Jim Cummings!" gasped Coyote Pete, as his eyes fell on the other. "Well, the dern renegade!"
There was no time to ask questions just then. With a few rough words the prisoners were ordered to dismount, and were ushered under close guard into what seemed to have been the main body of the mission church. It had a high-vaulted ceiling, and a few windows high up from the floor and closely barred. Otherwise, it was bare, except for some straw thrown about as if for beds.
"You will stay here to-night," said Ramon, gruffly addressing the prisoners, "and in the morning we will talk."
Without another word he turned away, and the Border Boys and their companions heard the door close with a bang. Then came a metallic clang, which told that a heavy bar had been put in place outside.
"Bottled!" said Pete laconically, and with a calm that amazed Ralph.
"And corked!" added Walt.