“Yes.”
“And that man with you in your cage there is called Barney?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, I see—Barney and Pomp. Well, Senor Reade, pray accept my compliments and the wish that you may see civilization again alive, which I do not believe will be the case. Ha—ha—ha! You have blundered into a death-trap!”
Something like a correct comprehension of affairs now began to dawn upon Frank.
“What do you mean?” he gasped in surprise. “Who are you?”
“Well, since you ask me I will tell you,” replied the cowboy chief with a laugh. “I am no Spaniard, as you might have thought. I am as good an American as you, and you will have good cause to remember my name in the near future, provided you escape from this trap. I am the man you are so eagerly looking for—I am Artemas Cliff.”
“Heavens!” gasped Frank Reade, Jr., “the man I am looking for!”
“The same,” replied Cliff, mockingly. “You have undertaken quite a daring deed, my fine inventor, but you will find that you have bitten off a very much larger slice than you can masticate.”
“We will see,” began Frank.