“I have forgotten to thank you for that same delivery. I never dreamed you were my liberator, Mr. Robles.”
“Because that night I was Don Manuel de Valencia. But at present I am Ricardo Robles, and in that capacity it is for me to thank you for having so chivalrously protected our dear Merle from the necessity of associating her name in any way with the death of that worthless young scoundrel. I appreciate the cheerful manner in which you have, for her sake, and let me add, for my sake, too, borne your long imprisonment here.”
“I’ve been mighty comfortable,” laughed Dick, with a glance around his luxurious quarters. “And Pierre Luzon has been a treasure—a good comrade all the time.”
“Ah, yes, Pierre,” exclaimed the outlaw, musingly. “Pierre is a very good fellow. He has been faithful to me for thirty long years.”
“And where does he go after tonight?” asked Dick. “He cannot stay here, all alone except for Guadalupe.”
“Everything is arranged. Guadalupe is accustomed to live alone. But tonight Pierre accompanies me on my long journey.”
“So we may all meet again?”
“Yes, we may all meet again,” responded Robles, slowly and gravely, “far, far away from the Tehachapi mountains. But now I must go,” he went on in a brisk tone, “for I have to make some final preparations. You have the affidavit; see that you do not lose it on your ride down the mountains.”
“You just bet I won’t,” replied Dick, as he held tightly to the precious document with both hands.
“Pierre will come for you here early in the afternoon. Be prepared to go with him then. As for myself, Willoughby, there is for the present only one word more to be spoken. Adios!” Again they clasped hands, and a moment later Don Manuel was gone.