"In good time, señor," the man apologized.
"Just a word first, my friend. I have a revolver in my hand. If there is trickery in your mind, better give it up. I'm a dead shot, and I'll put the first bullet through your heart. Now lead on."
The Mexican threw up his hands in protest to all the saints that his purpose was good. He would assuredly keep faith, señor.
"See you do," replied the Spaniard curtly.
Their guide rapped three times on a door of a tumble-down shack. Cautiously it was opened a few inches. There was another whispered conversation.
"The señor and the señorita can come in," said the first man, standing aside.
Manuel restrained the young woman by stretching his left arm in front of her.
"Just a moment. Light a lamp, my friends. We do not go forward in the dark."
At this there was a further demur, but finally a match flickered and a lamp was lit. Manuel moved slowly forward into the room, followed by Valencia. In a corner of the room a man lay bound upon the floor, his back toward them. One of the men rolled him over as if he had been a sack of potatoes. The face into which they looked had been mauled and battered, but Valencia had no trouble in recognizing it.
"Sebastian!" she cried.