“How did you come here?” asked Jack in Spanish.
“Ah, señor, surely by a miracle of the saints,” was the reply, as the man raised his eyes to heaven. “I recollect your blow and then nothing more till I found myself cast up on the bank of yonder stream. Call it what you will, I believe that it was a true miracle of Providence that my life was saved.”
“We must both thank a higher power for our deliverance,” said Jack reverently. “I never thought that I should see you alive again.”
“But who are you?” demanded the Mexican. “How came you on our raft before it went adrift?”
Jack thought for a moment before replying, and then he decided that it could do no possible harm, under the circumstances, to tell who he was.
“I am the son of an Arizona rancher,” he said. “My name is Jack Merrill. With two companions I was accompanying the Texas Rangers on a scouting trip for the sake of the experience. While on guard duty I saw your raft land and thought it my duty to try to find out what you were doing on the American side of the river.”
To Jack’s surprise the other showed no trace of anger. Instead he appeared grief stricken.
“Alas, señor,” he said, “you may have been the cause of the death of my two companions, for if the Texas Rangers captured them they will assuredly shoot them.”
“I’m sure they would do no such thing,” rejoined Jack indignantly; “they are not inhuman wretches. If your companions can show that they were doing no harm on our side of the Border they will be released with a warning not to spy upon Americans again.”