Both Mexicans cried, as if at a cue, "Who speaks?"
"A Ranger."
The fellow Law had addressed let fall his rifle; two pairs of dark hands rose slowly. Then the Ranger went on in Spanish:
"Anto, lower your left hand and unbuckle your belt." Anto did as he was told, his revolver and cartridge-belt dropped to the ground. "And you, compadre, do the same. Mind you, the left hand! Now face about and walk to the charco, both of you. Good!"
Law stepped into view, his Winchester in the crook of his arm. He emptied the three discarded weapons, then, walking to Anto's horse, he removed the second carbine from beneath the saddle-flap and ejected its shells into his palm.
This done, he addressed the stranger. "Now, friend, who are you, and why are you riding with this fellow?"
"My name is Panfilo Sanchez, señor. Before God, I have done nothing."
The speaker was tremendously excited.
"Well, Panfilo, that will take some proving," the Ranger muttered.
"What do you say?"
The gist of this statement having been repeated in Spanish, both prisoners burst into clamorous explanation of their presence together. Panfilo, it seemed, had encountered his companion purely by chance, and was horrified now to learn that his newly made friend was wanted by the authorities. In the midst of his incoherent protestations Mrs. Austin appeared.