“Then return home at once, and I regret that you came thus far with me.”
“You have the most dangerous trail to travel, Señor Cody, and a long ten miles.”
“I am used to dangerous trails, señor, but if I thought danger might beset you I would return with you.”
“Not unless you remain all night, señor.”
“I could not do that. The ghosts in the old hacienda might put my men to flight.”
The sun had now sunk behind the western range of mountains, and the lake valley was already darkening under the fall of night.
“That man is all right, for he told me of a legacy lately received. I came here prepared to doubt every one, but I’ll set him down as a square man,” muttered Buffalo Bill, as he rode along the lake shore, under the shelter of the fringe of timber, beneath which led the trail up the valley.
Señor Otega had turned his horse toward home, and set out at a rapid canter.
Reaching a belt of timber, the animal was walking along at his ease, the night having set in, when, without a warning, there settled over the señor’s head a coil of rope, and he found his arms pinioned to his side, while he heard the words in Spanish:
“Resist, Señor Otega, and you are a dead man. I have men here to master you.”