Yes, they could now hear the steady beating of the horses’ hoofs.
Louder they came—still louder!
Around a bend swung the benevolent-looking Mexican. Close behind him clattered the others. But a few paces more, and the policemen’s horses sprang forward. Then the astounded Mexicans found themselves facing a group of the famous Texas Rangers, every member of which had them covered with a Winchester rifle.
CHAPTER XXVI
GOOD-BYE TO THE RANGERS
Stopping with a suddenness that sent the horses back on their haunches, the men made no attempt to draw their weapons. After the first instant of stunning surprise, they seemed to face the determined-looking officers with singular calmness.
Carl Alvin’s loud order to halt, uttered in Spanish, was received in silence, but the moment following, to the astonishment of all, the benevolent-looking Mexican leader broke out in a hearty peal of laughter, which was promptly taken up by the others, until the narrow pass was filled with the echoes of their mirth.
What could it mean? Was it a trick to disarm suspicion, to throw the policemen off their guard? If so, it had failed. Not a glistening barrel was lowered.
Carl Alvin, the only Ranger who had a fluent command of the Spanish language, began to speak. Rapidly he demanded explanations. They were promptly given by the elderly man, who spoke in the most calm and even tones, while Carl Alvin listened with a puzzled air which gradually changed into another suggesting a mingled state of amusement and elation.
“Well, Alvin,” demanded Sergeant Howell, “what’s the rigmarole all about?”
“Sergeant,” the Ranger laughed heartily, “I don’t think we have the right bunch after all. Listen. Here’s his story and it sounds to me like a straight one.”