“Unhappy boy!” said another.
“What do you mean?” cried the perplexed Pedro. “Where is my mother?—my father?”
“Gone,” they sorrowfully said.
“Gone!” cried Pedro. “Dead?”
“No,” said an old man, “but they might better be dead. They have been taken off by the outlaw and his band.”
“Sinyaro?”
“Yes, the terrible Sinyaro, who swears that your father has money concealed. ’Twas but yesterday that he sent us your poor father’s right ear, demanding that we send him a hundred dollars for each of the prisoners, or else he will slay them by sunset to-morrow. Alas! we are all too poor to raise that amount.”
“To-morrow night?” gasped Pedro. “The time is short.”
“Aye! and the bandit swears that he will bring them both to the edge of the village and slay them before our very eyes,” said the old man.
“Hush,” cried Pedro; “let me think a moment. Ha! I have it; Harry Hale—the Steam Man—the Steam Horse—all or any can save them if I can get them there in time.”