“Will somebody please tell me what all this means?” cried Jack, looking about him bewilderedly.
“Please let me examine the brand of that horse,” said the first speaker, who seemed to be a kind of leader; “ah, just as I thought. A bar and a flying U. That’s De Acosta’s horse and you are the man we’re after. Get off now.”
“But—but——,” began Jack, beginning to think that this adventure might turn out seriously after all.
“No explanations now. You may make those to the commandante later. Come, senor,” as Jack still hesitated, “are you going to dismount?”
“Nothing for it I suppose but to obey,” said Jack, clambering out of the saddle.
The man who was conducting this inquiry while the rest looked grimly on, was excessively polite, but there was something alarming in his very suavity. As Jack’s feet touched the ground a sharp order was given in Spanish, and two of the horsemen who had so suddenly appeared stepped to his side. As they did so they tapped their rifles significantly. But suddenly Jack noted something, and that was that on the butt of each of the rifles was stamped Republica de Mexico, No. 2, Sonora.
A great light broke upon him.
“Why, you are Mexican Rangers,—Rurales,—are you not?” he demanded of the seeming leader.
“Si, senor. None should know that better than you.” was the grave reply. “We are the second division of Sonora, with headquarters at Santa Anita.”
“Hooray, then it’s all right after all,” cried the boy, and plunging his hand into his breast pocket he drew forth the paper which Don Alverado had given him before they departed from his hospitable roof. The officer scanned it with raised eyebrows.