Picking out a spot which looked better than anything around it, he brought the aeroplane to the ground so softly that it almost seemed like a thistle-down blown by the wind, and alighting.
The motor had ceased to whirr, and the propellers to whizz as Andy, clutching his Marlin in his grasp, sprang from his seat to the sand.
Frank was hardly three seconds behind him, and it might be noticed that he too held one of the useful guns.
Who could tell what need they might have for these life preservers, when adrift in such a desert land, and with reckless Indians all around them; not to speak of the man who lay behind the two dead ponies, with his gun covering them even now.
Frank was not taking any chances with Jose. He knew that the Mexican must be in a desperate frame of mind, and ready to fight to the last gasp before he would consent to yield. And Frank believed in strategy when it could be made to answer the purpose.
What they wanted above all else just now was the return of little Becky to the care of her legal guardian. They were not appointed to wreak vengeance on the head of the father who had seen fit to steal his own child away. Besides, somehow, after seeing how valiantly Jose had held the whole band of reservation Indians at bay, both boys felt considerable more respect for the Mexican. At least he was no coward, even if his actions in the past had been along that line, Jose, like so many of his class was a bravo; he could display mean traits toward women and children, but face half a dozen men in a brawl, or a fight like this, without showing the white feather.
So Frank immediately held up his hand, as he called aloud:
“Halloo! Jose Sandero! do not fire upon us! We will not do you harm if you turn over the child to us to take back to her home! Do you understand me?”
They saw the figure of the Mexican now. He had scrambled to his feet to face the boys who had come so happily to his rescue just in time to save his life. Perhaps this fact was duly impressed upon the mind of the man from across the border. He owed these lads something, and a Mexican always has an exaggerated sense of his own honor; it is a heritage he has received from his Spanish ancestors far back.
“Si, senors,” he answered back, in a mellow tone, “I understand. Come closer that we may talk it over. I promise you I will not fire one shot. Carramba! it is only one that I have left me, after all you saw.”