He could have shot a few of the brigands and thus have sold his life. But the thought flashed through his mind that this would be utter folly.
So he threw up his hands and cried in good Spanish “Forbear, senors—we surrender!”
In a twinkling both were disarmed.
As they stood thus helpless in the center of the swarthy group of ruffians, the leader, a tall, powerful framed Peruvian, came forward.
He wore a broad sombrero, leathern breeches and fancifully beaded jacket.
A huge knife and a pair of revolvers were thrust into his belt.
With a swaggering braggadocio characteristic of the race, he advanced and said roughly in the Spanish language:
“Well, senors, this is the time that you are entrapped. It will not be easy for you to escape the vengeance of Red Muriel. Your people are all interlopers in this region, and our people hate you!”
“Indeed!” said Frank, calmly. “What harm have we done you?”
“Per Dios! That is not for me to answer. Your fate is sealed.”