"Just keep the boy here a bit until I can see clearer," he said, "if Bryton knows."
He tramped after Bryton, who was going for his own horse tied in the shadow of a pepper tree.
"Bryton, tell me how you know!"
"I can't do it. Take my word or ignore it, as you like."
"But, hell, man! it is not your word; it is only your impression! Give me your word as to how you know it, and I'll take it quick. I suppose it's some inside family history you've dropped on; but the lady is at Los Angeles, and it is some other woman they are nursing at the ranch and deceiving the servants about. That is my theory. There are some women mixed up with that Flores outfit, and I happen to know that El Capitan, who is the brain of the gang, is related to the folks at that ranch. Now, is it reasonable to think that Arteaga's wife would ride at dark, alone, over this country where hold-ups are so common? Would he let her? Would not the Downings have known?"
"They probably did know, and Rafael Arteaga certainly did," returned Bryton, impatiently. "Their picnic was more a matter of policy than a pleasure party. They wanted the bishop there, to put an end to that church fight. They wanted Doña Raquel Arteaga to serve as an attraction and help them. She has absolutely refused all along to assist with any compromise; and to avoid it this time she has evidently ridden quietly out of Los Angeles, and her husband, who wanted the picnic very much, has kept her absence a secret."
"But if she is as sick as this boy says, how could she take a thirty-mile ride on horseback?"
Bryton made a gesture of impatience.
"She is there!" he insisted. "I—I feel that she is there. The sooner you let the boy ride for Arteaga and the doctor, the less likely she is to die."
"Doctor! Did he say anything about a doctor?"