“Wall, that seems to be us,” observed Pete dryly. “But look, the Don is announcing the first contest. It’s the race to the town and back agin, carrying a letter to the city hall, or whatever they call it, and returning with an answer. Whoever makes the best time wins a fine horse blanket and a silver-mounted quirt. Any of you boys in it?”
“No, I want to keep my mount fresh for the tilting,” said Jack.
“Same here,” announced the others.
They watched the contest with interest, however. It was won by a small Mexican on a wiry little animal who sped into the town and back in seemingly incredible time. As soon as he could escape from the congratulatory crowd, the wiry little horse was spurred toward where our friends stood in a group waiting for their contests to be announced.
“For you I have the letter,” he said, as he rode up and extended a bit of paper.
“A letter for us. Impossible!” exclaimed Jack. “Who could have sent it?”
“It’s addressed ‘Senor Jack Merrill,’ sure enough,” cried Ralph, “and the address is printed, too.”
“Somebody trying to disguise his hand,” commented Jack, taking the note. “Well, let’s see what it is, any how.”
The note was only folded and when opened proved to contain but a few words, but those words were fraught with meaning.