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The Broncho Rider Boys With The Texas Rangers

Frank Fowler

CONTENTS

PULLING HIMSELF TOGETHER AND GRASPING HIS MARLIN FIRMLY, ADRIAN STEPPED CAUTIOUSLY TOWARD THE BROKEN DOOR.

THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS WITH THE TEXAS RANGERS

or

The Capture of the Smugglers On the Rio Grande

By Frank Fowler

Author Of

“The Broncho Rider Boys At Keystone Ranch.”
“The Broncho Rider Boys In Arizona.”
“The Broncho Rider Boys Along The Border.”
“The Broncho Rider Boys On The Wyoming Trail.”

A. L. BURT COMPANY

NEW YORK.

Copyright, 1915

By A. L. Burt Company

THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS WITH THE TEXAS RANGERS

[CHAPTER I.—A MULE HUNT IN THE CHAPARRAL.]

“Crack!” went Broncho Billie’s revolver and the silver dollar which had been tossed into the air as a target went spinning into the yellow waters of the Rio Grande as a result of Billie’s unerring aim.

“Not a bad shot, Ad,” remarked Billie with a laugh as he ejected the shell from the cylinder and shoved a fresh cartridge into the empty chamber of the revolver. “I don’t miss ’em very often now, and this time the river is a dollar in.”

“Yes,” replied Adrian, a bit crestfallen, “and I’m a dollar out.”

“Didn’t think I’d hit it, eh?” and Billie’s round face broadened till it looked like a full moon.

“Well, I didn’t know but you might, but I hadn’t stopped to think what would happen to the dollar if you did. The river didn’t look so near.”

Billie chuckled to himself good-naturedly as he

returned his six-shooter to its holster, while Adrian continued:

“I’ll make a better guess at distances before I try it again. I can’t afford to be losing dollars like that.”

“Oh, that’s all right, Ad!” and Billie shoved his hand down into his pocket. “Here’s one to take its place.”

Adrian shook his head and made no move to take the proffered coin.

“Go on, take it!” insisted Billie. “I don’t want to make you lose your last dollar.”

“That’s all right about my last dollar,” replied Adrian. “I guess I know where to get another, and the lesson is worth a peso.”

“Well, if you go broke because of it, don’t be afraid to tell me,” was Billie’s joking reply; “but what can be keeping Donald, I wonder. It’s high time we were getting back over the river,” and Billie cast his eye toward the mountains some miles in the distance to see how close to their tops the sun was getting.

“He’ll surely be here in a few minutes,” said Adrian. “He knows how long it will take us to get to town as well as we do.”

And while the boys are awaiting the arrival of their companion, it might be well to explain to any reader who has not had the pleasure of reading the preceding volumes of the Broncho Rider

Boys series something about the trio of young Americans whose names have been mentioned.

Adrian Sherwood, who had so recklessly risked his silver dollar as a target for his companion to shoot at, was the owner of a ranch in Wyoming, which he had but recently inherited and come into possession of through a series of most exciting adventures as told in a preceding volume of this series, entitled “The Broncho Rider Boys on the Wyoming Trail.” He was a youth of much wisdom and judgment for one of his years and a close chum of Billie, who had been christened William Stonewall Jackson Winkle.

Because of the exciting adventures through which Adrian, Billie and Donald had passed and because they had practically lived in the saddle for the past year and a half, they had become known to the cowboys and rough riders of three states as “The Broncho Rider Boys.” Born in the south, but having spent most of his boyhood in New York State, Billie had come west nearly two years previous to find health and to rid himself of the superfluous weight which some good-natured doctor had said was the cause of his trouble. Months in the saddle had made very little difference in his weight and if there were a more healthy chap in the country than he, such a one would be hard to find.

When Billie first came west, he was a veritable

tenderfoot. He was always creating fun for those with whom he was thrown and was invariably in some sort of trouble. The number of times he had been thrown from the back of his broncho could hardly be enumerated, and more in fun than because he was a daring rider, he had been rechristened Broncho Billie by his cowboy friends.

But Billie had developed rapidly. Of the three there was not one who could ride or shoot better than he. His only weak spot was in throwing the lariat. He never seemed to get just the proper hang and his attempts to use the rope almost invariably resulted in disaster to himself or his friends. As is usually the case with fat people, Billie fairly bubbled over with good humor, being a fine example of Tony Lumpkin’s famous advice to “laugh and grow fat.”

Donald Mackay, Billie’s cousin, whom he had come west to visit, was the son of the owner of a big ranch, known as Keystone Ranch. He was one of those steady, reliable boys whom we have all met and who can always be depended upon in any emergency to do the right thing, although at times he may be slower than some others in the manner in which he works. Taken all in all they were a well-balanced trio, as their actions under many trying conditions and in many hazardous adventures had justly proved. They had thwarted an unscrupulous syndicate from robbing Donald’s

father of valuable property. They had protected an inoffensive tribe of Indians against the designs of a band of sharpers, and they had straightened out affairs at Adrian’s ranch in a manner which would have been a credit to much older heads.

After their adventures in Wyoming, as told in a preceding volume, they had started to return to Arizona by a two months’ ride through Colorado and New Mexico; but, when they reached Albuquerque, they had received a letter from Billie’s father, saying that he was going on a vacation trip to El Paso, Texas, and asking if it were possible for Billie to meet him there.

“Of course I can,” exclaimed Billie aloud, as he read the letter.

“Of course you can what?” queried Donald.

“Meet father in El Paso,” was the reply.

“What, and leave us to go home all alone?” said Adrian.

“There’s two of you, isn’t there?” retorted Billie, forgetting his grammar entirely.

“Of course there are two of us; but that’s hardly a company, while, as everybody knows, three make a crowd,” and Adrian laughed almost sadly. “Who’d take care of Jupiter?”

Now Jupiter was the broncho which Billie’s uncle had given him when he first came West, and a terrible time Billie had had in breaking him. He hadn’t thought about him.

“You could lead him, couldn’t you?” asked Billie.

“We’re driving two pack mules now. How would you expect us to take care of Jupiter?”

Billie shook his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he said.

“I’ll tell you what,” suddenly exclaimed Donald, “we’ll all go to El Paso. We’ll ride there. It isn’t so many days out of our way, and we’ll see something of the country. We might even get a look at President Madero, of Mexico.”

Donald’s suggestion met with immediate approval by the others, and so, instead of going southwest from Albuquerque, they headed south. Because of the lay of the land, they had traveled farther south than was really necessary, but had figured it out that it would be better riding in the valley of the Rio Grande than to climb over the range of mountains that forms the watershed of the Pecos River. Striking the Rio Grande near Langtry, they had slowly ridden up stream toward El Paso, first on one side of the river and then on the other, until this afternoon found them approaching the mouth of the Concho river, which empties into the Rio Grande from the Mexican side.

Two hours previous they had halted in the chaparral for a bite to eat and a short siesta. While they were lounging about, Donald had announced his intention of going to a little hamlet, the adobe houses of which could be seen a couple of miles

away, to see if he could not buy a riata, as a rope for leading horses is called.

“Why not wait until we reach Presidio?” queried Adrian. “We should reach there by dark.”

“We may not, and we need it to tether the pack mules. The one on Bray is worn out, and first thing we know he’ll wander away and we’ll waste a whole day looking for him.”

“Well, hurry up, then,” said Billie. “We don’t want to be waiting around here all the afternoon.”

Without more words Donald had mounted Wireless, for so his mount was named, and ridden away in the direction of the houses, while Billie and Adrian had strolled up the bank of the river, killing time. It was during this stroll that Billie had offered to show his skill with a six-shooter by hitting a silver dollar thrown into the air.

They had hardly been out of sight of the halting place during their stroll, but, upon their return, instead of finding Donald, they found old Bray, one of the pack mules, missing, just as Donald had predicted.

“He cannot have gone far,” declared Adrian. “He hasn’t had time.”

“That’s certain,” was Billie’s reassuring comment, and, feeling sure that a few minutes’ search of the chaparral would reveal the missing animal, they started out hastily, on foot, not deeming it necessary even to mount their steeds.

For the next ten minutes they tramped through the chaparral, calling to each other as they went, but no sign of the mule could be found. Then they returned to the camp and mounted their horses, but, although this enabled them to see over the tops of the mesquite bushes that spread out for miles up and down the river, they could see nothing of the missing animal.

“There comes Don,” Billie at last sung out, as he caught sight of the returning horseman. “Maybe he can give us some advice.”

But Donald had no advice to give, except to scatter and search.

“I hate to say 'I told you so,’” laughed Donald, “because it was really my fault that I didn’t get a new riata before. I reckon now we might as well decide to stop here all right, for I can see we have our afternoon’s work cut out.”

Half an hour’s riding having revealed no sign of Bray, the boys again met at the camp.

“Haven’t you seen anything at all?” called out Adrian, as the boys came within hailing distance of each other.

“Yes,” replied Billie, “I saw a hacienda about three miles up the river. I knew Don spoke a little Mexican, so I came back to tell him, and ask if you didn’t think it would be a good thing to apply to the owner for help. Maybe some of the peons have run across Bray and driven him home.”

“Good idea,” said Adrian. “You fellows go up to the hacienda and I’ll stay here and look after the other mule and the camp. I’m glad Bray didn’t have his pack on, or we’d stand a chance of going hungry tonight.”

“Don’t mention such a thing,” laughed Billie. “The very thought of it fills me with despair.”

[CHAPTER II.—A WILD CHASE AND ITS RESULT.]

The hacienda which Billie had discovered in his search for the lost pack mule was located about a mile from the Rio Grande on the Mexican side of the river, and appeared to be part of an estate of considerable size. The house itself was a good-sized dwelling, built in true Mexican style, with a great wall surrounding it, and the yard, or patio, as it is called, inside the walls. It was of dazzling whiteness, and, situated upon a little knoll that rose almost abruptly out of the otherwise level plain, made quite a pretentious appearance.

“Looks as though it might belong to people of quality,” remarked Donald, as the boys approached it, after a sharp gallop of twenty minutes.

“Yes, or a fort of some kind, with that high wall all around it.”

“The wall, as you call it, is part of the house,” explained Donald. “However, it serves the purpose of a fortification. Father told me they got into the habit of building their houses in this way

during the days when revolutions were of almost daily occurrence.”

“A habit from which they haven’t yet recovered,” laughed Billie.

Riding up to the great front door, or gate, which they found closed, they knocked loudly. A sharp-eyed Mexican lad answered the summons and ushered them into the patio, where they sat quietly upon their horses until the owner appeared. He was a little, weazened old man—Don Pablo Ojeda, by name, as the boys afterward learned—but he received them with a great show of friendliness.

“Welcome, strangers,” he said, by way of greeting. “What can I do for you today?”

“We are travelers,” replied Donald, “and one of our pack mules strayed away. Being unable to find it, we thought perhaps some of your servants might have come across it, and, not knowing to whom it belonged, have driven it to this place.”

“Quite possible,” replied the old man. “I will summon them and inquire.”

This he did. In response to his summons, half a dozen peons put in an appearance, but all denied any knowledge of the mule.

“He has probably gone down the river in the direction from which you came,” said Don Pablo, after the servants had gone back to their work. “That would be the most natural thing.”

“Quite likely,” was Donald’s reply. “We will

look for him in that direction. We are much obliged to you for your trouble.”

“No hay de que,” meaning, there is no occasion for thanks, was the Mexican’s answer, and, without more ado, the boys took their departure.

“The old hypocrite,” exclaimed Donald, as soon as the boys were out of earshot. “I actually believe he found the mule himself, and knows where he is at this very minute.”

“I thought that myself,” commented Billie, “although I could understand very little of what was being said. But he was altogether too gracious.”

“What most aroused my suspicions,” said Donald, “was a side remark I heard him whisper to that big dark peon. I didn’t get the whole of it, but it was something about removing the livestock to another pasture. But he can’t fool me, if ever I get sight of old Bray, for he had the Keystone brand.”

The boys walked their horses slowly along, talking the matter over, undecided what to do next; but, as they at last emerged from behind a long row of cactus, which formed a hedge around one side of the hacienda, Billie uttered a sudden exclamation.

“Look!” he almost shouted, and pointed away to the left, where, about a mile distant, could be seen a couple of men on horseback, driving before them a dozen or more horses and mules. “I believe that big mule a little to the side is old Bray.”

“I’m sure of it,” replied Donald. “It’s a long ways too far to see the brand, but he’s got a peculiar stride that I recognize as soon as I set eyes on him.”

“What had we better do?” queried Billie. “We’re perfect strangers here, you know.”

“I don’t care if we are,” was the emphatic response. “No thieving hypocrite can get away with my mule as long as my name is Donald Mackay. Follow me,” and, putting spurs to Wireless, he dashed off in the direction of the drove, closely followed by Billie.

From the direction in which the men were driving the animals it was very evident they were headed for the mountains, some seven or eight miles away, and it was plain to the boys that, if they ever expected to get old Bray, they would have to overtake the drove before it reached the foothills. A small stream flowed across the plain and emptied into the Concho some miles farther west, and it was necessary for the men with the drove to cross this stream before they could make a direct line for the place they wished.

The boys were unfamiliar with the lay of the land, but they made up their mind that they could cross the stream higher up and thus get between the men and the mountains. They did not know that the only ford was the one toward which the men were driving the horses, and accordingly, instead

of following the direct trail, they struck off diagonally across the plain.

The men saw the boys as soon as they appeared upon the scene, and immediately put the drove on a full run for the ford.

While the stream toward which both the pursued and the pursuers were heading was not a large one, it was quite a torrent because of the heavy rains of the past two or three days—the rainy season having already begun. The natives were well aware of this, and thought it impossible for anyone to cross it except at the ford in question. Being fully a mile in advance, they had no fear of being overtaken, as they felt certain that when the boys reached the river they would have to turn down stream for more than half a mile before they could cross. This would give the thieves another good mile the advantage.

Wireless and Jupiter seemed to know what was expected of them, and fairly flew over the ground. The natives were also well mounted, and the chase would have been a fruitless one, had conditions been as they supposed. But they did not know the kind of boys they had to deal with, nor the mettle of the horses they rode.

After ten minutes of hard riding, it became evident that the boys were gaining, and as the thieves and their booty plunged into the ford, the boys

were rapidly approaching the river at the place they had picked out to cross.

Then for the first time the pursuers saw why it was that the thieves had chosen a crossing so far downstream.

For just a moment they drew rein, seeing which the natives gave a shout of derision as they, too, slackened their pace and rode more leisurely toward the mountains.

But again the thieves had reckoned without their host, for, in another minute the boys put spurs to their horses and dashed toward the stream, even higher up than they had first aimed. Billie had discovered a narrow place, and had made a suggestion to Donald, which they determined to carry out.

At the spot which Billie had discovered the stream was about thirty feet from bank to bank. Billie’s suggestion was that they make the horses jump it.

It was a dangerous suggestion, because the very narrowness of the stream made the current at this point exceedingly swift. How deep it was neither of the boys had the slightest idea; they did know, however, that it was necessarily the deepest spot on the whole plain. But this did not deter them. They had made up their minds to head off the thieves, and such a small thing as a thirty-foot leap over a raging torrent of water was not to be considered.

So surprised were the men whom they were pursuing, that for the time they forgot their herd and riveted their attention upon the boys, not for a moment expecting them to try to cross when once they approached near enough to the stream to know the actual condition.

But, never flagging, almost neck and neck, Wireless and Jupiter dashed toward the narrow spot.

As they drew nearer, both boys saw that the stream was wider than they had thought, and swerved just a moment from their course.

Again the natives uttered a shout of derision, expecting to see them pull up; but on they came.

“Can we make it?” shouted Billie.

“Sure,” replied Donald, who was better acquainted with the latent ability of his horse than his eastern-bred cousin. “Give Jupiter his head and just a touch of the spur, and over we go!”

They were right on the brink, and suiting the action to the word, they gave their horses their heads for the leap.

Into the air they rose like a couple of soaring birds, and for one brief moment were flying over the rushing water. The shout of derision died on the lips of the now thoroughly frightened natives, as both the thoroughbred beauties landed fairly on the opposite bank and sped on their way, as though they had but jumped a ditch.

By their daring feat the boys had so gained upon

the thieves that they were now not more than a quarter of a mile behind and gaining rapidly. Seeing that they could not escape with their booty, the thieves turned suddenly to the left, deserting their herd, and rode as fast as their horses could carry them directly toward the chaparral that skirted the Rio Grande.

At this the boys would have drawn rein, seeing that old Bray was now within their grasp, but their attention was attracted by a shout from the opposite side of the stream which they had just crossed.

Turning their heads to see whence came the noise, they beheld a body of a dozen or more horsemen headed toward the ford at full speed.

“Don’t let them escape! Don’t let them escape!” shouted the leader of the band, and, without stopping to think why they should obey such an order, but feeling that there was good reason for it, the boys again took up the chase.

As they espied the horsemen on the opposite bank, and realizing that there was but one way to escape, the thieves turned in their saddles and simultaneously fired a shot at their boy pursuers.

The balls whistled by the boys’ heads, but did not stop their furious gallop. Again the thieves fired, and again the balls whistled harmlessly by their heads.

But they had no chance to fire again, for the lads were right upon them. Suddenly Donald’s hand

shot forward, and his lariat sung out with lightning speed. True to its aim, it fell over the shoulders of the nearest Mexican. Wireless stopped as though he had been suddenly rooted to the spot; the Mexican’s horse dashed on riderless, and his master lay senseless upon the ground.

At the same moment Billie’s revolver cracked and the horse of the other fleeing Mexican pitched headlong to the earth, carrying his rider with him. Before he could recover himself, Billie had pulled up beside him, and, leaping to the ground, quickly bound him with his own lariat.

The boys had hardly regained their breath, when a loud cheer announced the arrival of the other horsemen.

“Good for you, young fellows,” exclaimed the leader of the band, as he, too, sprang from his saddle. “You’ve made an important capture. We’ve been trying to get evidence against these cutthroats for weeks. I surely owe you one.”

“That’s good,” laughed Billie. “It’s mighty nice to have something coming. But who are you?”

“Oh, me,” was the good-natured rejoinder. “I’m Captain June Peak, of the Texas Rangers, and these are part of my company.”

[CHAPTER III.—A DANGEROUS MISSION.]

Of course both Donald and Billie had heard of the Texas Rangers, that daring body of the Texas militia which has done so much in maintaining law and order along the Mexican frontier, as well as in the lawless communities farther interior. This, however, was their first introduction to the rangers, and they gazed at the riders with considerable astonishment, their appearance not being such as would give a stranger a very good opinion of their law-abiding character.

“Texas Rangers,” finally exclaimed Donald, in a tone that indicated some doubt. “Then what are you doing this side of the Rio Grande?”

“Well, I declare,” responded Captain Peak, looking around at his men with a twinkle in his eye, “we must have crossed the river without seeing it. We’d better get back just as fast as we can.”

“That’s right, Cap.,” replied one of the men, “but you wouldn’t think of leaving these poor fellows lying on the ground, would you?”

“Sure not. Just pick them up, some of you, and we’ll get right back to our own side of the river.”

The words were no sooner spoken than several of the men sprang to the ground. The two Mexicans were quickly thrown across the backs of a couple of horses, and the rangers prepared to return.

The boys had heard the words of the captain, and watched the proceedings without a word, realizing by the captain’s manner that the affair was more serious than he let on. As the men again resumed their saddles, and the captain was about to mount, Donald thought it high time to ask further questions; but he hadn’t decided just what to say before Captain Peak asked:

“How did you boys happen to be chasing these greasers?”

“They were stealing our mule—that big one there,” replied Donald, pointing to old Bray. “You can see he has the Keystone brand, the same as our horses,” and he indicated the marks upon Jupiter and Wireless.

“Then you’d better cut him out and come along with us,” said Captain Peak. “This won’t be a very healthy place for you much longer.”

“No?” And the boys looked at the captain inquiringly.

“No; there’s going to be trouble along the border, and it may break out any minute. That’s why these

horse-thieves are so bold; and that’s why we are on this side the river, where we really have no business. But these fellows have become such a nuisance that when we saw them leaving the casa a little while ago we couldn’t resist the chance of getting them. We shall turn them over to the Mexican authorities at the first opportunity, and I hope you boys will be on hand to give your testimony against them.”

“If they are really horse-thieves,” replied Donald, “we shall be glad to help bring them to justice; but we are only travelers, and don’t wish to be delayed on our journey any longer than necessary. We have a companion and another mule back there in the chaparral.”

“All right,” replied Captain Peak, “we’ll ride back that way and see that no one disturbs you. Then we’ll all get into town as soon as possible. It’s only six or seven miles.”

Acting upon Captain Peak’s advice, the boys cut old Bray out from the rest of the drove, and in company with the rangers, galloped back toward the place where they had left Adrian. It is hard to say which was the greater, his pleasure at seeing his companions with old Bray in their possession, or his surprise at the numerous company that was with them.

As they rode leisurely toward Presidio, after crossing to the American shore, Donald explained

to Captain Peak how they happened to be so far from home. He was much interested in their story, and when they reached town introduced them to the officials, both civil and military. The captured horse-thieves were locked up in jail and the boys went home with Captain Peak, who invited them to spend the night with him at the hotel.

“I tell you,” exclaimed Billie, as they sat on the porch that evening after supper, “a woman’s cooking surely does taste good! Why, just think, we haven’t had a bite for most a month that we didn’t cook ourselves.”

The following morning the boys were awakened by a big commotion outside, and, looking down the street toward the jail, saw that it was surrounded by a great crowd. They hastily dressed themselves and rushed out of the hotel. Almost the first man they met was Captain Peak.

“What’s the matter?” asked Billie.

“There has been an attempt to rescue the prisoners, but it did not succeed.”

“Who did it?” queried Adrian.

“We are not exactly sure, as the rescuers mounted their horses as soon as they were discovered, and managed to get away. Some of the rangers are after them, however, and I hope will get a trace of them.”

“They must have been pretty bold to come into a town as big as this,” said Donald.

“So they are; but, as I told you yesterday, there is likely to be a lot of trouble the other side of the river, and the authorities are having their hands full looking after possible revolutionists. As a result lesser culprits go free.”

“That must make a lot of trouble on this side,” suggested Adrian.

“It does, for, in addition to watching for horse and cattle thieves, we have to keep our eyes open for gun runners.”

“What do you mean?” asked Billie. “What are gun runners?”

“Would-be revolutionists, who smuggle quantities of arms into Mexico without the knowledge of the Mexican officials.”

“I didn’t know it was our business to stop that. I thought anybody could buy arms to sell in Mexico?” said Adrian.

“So they can; but these arms would not be for sale. They would be for arming bands of men to overturn the government. We are under no obligation to stop it, but, as we want law and order along the border, we always try to help the Mexican authorities,” explained Captain Peak.

“But there come my men now,” he continued, as several horsemen turned into the main street.

The boys crowded around with others to hear the result of the chase, which the men reported to have been fruitless.

“If we could only have chased them over the river we could have captured them,” declared the sergeant in charge, “but, after the little raid yesterday, we thought we’d better not try it.”

Seeing that there was likely to be no more excitement, the crowd dispersed and the boys went into the hotel for breakfast; but when they came out they found Captain Peak waiting for them.

“How would you boys like to do a little scout duty for me over the river?” he asked.

“Scout duty?” repeated Donald. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Draw up some chairs,” replied the captain, “and I’ll explain.”

The boys did as directed, and the captain continued:

“I’ve been interested a whole lot in the adventures you boys have had, and I can see you are a smart bunch. You said you were willing to stay and help convict the cattle thieves, but we can’t arrange to turn them over to the Mexican officials and have their trial before tomorrow, no matter how fast we act. The Mexican always wants to wait till tomorrow.”

“Now, as long as you will be here a day or two, anyway, I thought maybe you would like to take a little excursion across the Rio Grande, and see how people live on that side. If you kept your eyes

open, you might see something that would be useful to me.”

“In what way?” queried Adrian.

Captain Peak drew his chair a bit nearer and looked all around to be sure no one was listening.

“It is like this,” he continued. “President Madero has discovered that there is a real plot on foot to start another revolution and overthrow his government. Arms for the revolutionists would have to come from this side of the river. As a revolution is unlawful, carrying arms across the Rio Grande to help a revolution is unlawful, and he has asked Uncle Sam and the State of Texas to prevent any guns or ammunition from going into Mexico which do not go through the Mexican custom house.”

“It looks to me,” broke in Billie, “as though that was the business of the Mexican government.”

“So it is,” replied Captain Peak, “but as long as Mexico is a friendly nation it is also our business to prevent filibustering—and that is what gun running amounts to.

“There is also another reason for helping to prevent this sort of smuggling. We frequently have to ask the Mexican government to aid us in running down outlaws who escape into that country. If we don’t help them, they won’t help us. So you can see, if we can learn anything about this revolutionary movement, it will be a good thing. You boys,

because you are strangers and travelers, are just the ones to help. What do you say?”

For several moments the boys said nothing, but finally Donald replied that if the captain would give them a few minutes to talk the matter over between themselves, they would be able to let him know.

“All right,” was the reply, “I’ve an appointment with the mayor, which will give you all the time you need,” and he left the hotel to keep his appointment.

“Well,” remarked Billie, as the captain disappeared around the corner, “what do you think of that?”

“I don’t think anything of it,” replied Donald. “I’ve no liking for that kind of work.”

“Why not?” queried Adrian.

“I don’t know. I just haven’t, that’s all.”

“You’d like to prevent war, wouldn’t you?”

“Sure,” was Donald’s emphatic rejoinder; “but I can’t see how this trip can prevent war.”

“I don’t know as it would,” said Adrian, “but, if we could do anything which would keep a lot of dissatisfied peons from getting guns and going out and killing people, it seems to me we would be doing a good deed.”

“That’s just the way it seems to me,” declared Billie. “The average Mexican who wants to start a revolution looks to me a good deal like the fellows who stole our mule.”

“Not necessarily,” replied Adrian. “Sometimes revolutions are started by men to overthrow a bad government. But my mother has always taught me there was a better way to right a wrong than to go to war over it. That’s why I am in favor of doing all we can to help those who want to prevent trouble.”

“Of course if you put it that way,” said Donald, “I’ve no objection to the excursion, as the captain calls it.”

When Captain Peak returned, they unanimously announced their readiness for the trip, and, half an hour later, fully instructed as to what was expected of them, they were across the Rio Grande, engaged upon what proved to be the most important adventure of their career.

[CHAPTER IV.—A FRIEND IN NEED.]

“This is certainly a funny excursion,” laughed Billie, after the boys had ridden along in silence for some minutes. “It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“How so?” queried Donald.

“Well, isn’t it? This big country is the haystack, and the bunch of gun runners is the needle. I see mighty little chance of finding them.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Donald. “We never started out to find anything yet that we didn’t locate it—even old Bray,” he added as an afterthought.

“That’s right,” chimed in Adrian. “There is nothing like having your luck with you.”

“Huh,” grunted Billie, “I’m not sure but the greatest luck we could have would be not to find anything.”

Adrian looked at the speaker in surprise.

“It’s the first time I ever knew you to show the white feather,” he said.

“Who’s showing the white feather?” demanded Billie, with much spirit. “I’m just as anxious as

anyone to put a stop to lawlessness; but you wouldn’t call any man a coward, would you, because he wouldn’t deliberately stick his head in a hornet’s nest?” And he gave his horse a vicious dig with his spurs.

“Oh, don’t get mad about it,” said Adrian. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, then, don’t be accusing me of showing the white feather. There’s a whole lot of difference, in my mind, between being a coward and using a little common sense.”

“He has the best of you there, Ad.,” remarked Donald; “when it comes to doing things, Billie will be on the job.”

Donald’s words were like oil on the troubled waters, and after a few minutes Billie continued in a voice entirely free from any irritation:

“The thing I can’t understand is this: If somebody has so much information as to what is to be done, why don’t they have some little knowledge of those who propose to do it? The whole thing looks fishy to me.”

“I believe you’re right,” assented Adrian, after turning the matter over in his mind for several minutes. “There is something kind of mysterious about it.”

“I don’t see it,” declared Donald, “but, even if there is, all we have to do is to keep our eyes and ears open. We have the law on our side.”

“Looks like mighty little law to me,” replied Billie, who, for some reason or other insisted upon looking on the dark side. “But, to change the subject, what do you call that?” and he pointed away to the south, where a cloud of dust was to be seen.

“Looks as though it might be a herd of cattle.” said Donald, after a moment’s inspection. “Although,” he added, after further observation, “it would be a mighty small one.”

“They certainly make a lot of dust,” was Adrian’s comment, followed in a moment with: “Look! Look! It’s a race! It’s a race!”

A race it certainly was, in which something less than half a dozen horsemen were engaged, and the boys drew rein to watch it.

At the first glance it did not appear to be very exciting, as one of the riders was so far in advance that there seemed very little chance for any of the others. But, as the boys watched the flying horsemen, it slowly dawned upon Donald that there was something wrong.

“By George!” he suddenly exclaimed, “I don’t believe it’s a race at all. It looks to me as though there were three trying to catch one, and I don’t think it’s for any good purpose.”

“I believe you’re right, Don; and, look,” exclaimed Adrian, “they’re headed this way!”

That the boys were right was fully evidenced as the flying horsemen approached. The pursuers

seemed to be men, while the fugitive was a lad of about the same age as our travelers.

All at once the boy espied the Broncho Rider Boys, and, digging his spurs into his horse, turned abruptly and rode directly toward them.

“Socorre mi! Socorre mi!” he called, as he came within hailing distance.

“What does he say?” asked Billie.

“He’s crying for help,” replied Donald. “What had we better do?”

“Help him, of course,” replied Billie.

“And get ourselves into a lot of trouble for our pains,” declared Donald.

“Who cares! Three to one is more than I can stand,” and Billie yanked his Marlin from its sheath at his saddle girth.

Seeing that Billie intended to interfere, even if he had to go it alone, Don and Adrian followed his example, and, spurring their horses forward, interposed between the boy and his pursuers.

“What’s all the trouble?” asked Donald in Spanish, as soon as the pursuing horsemen had come to a halt.

“He is running away from home,” replied one who seemed to be the leader, “and his uncle sent us to bring him back.”

“It isn’t so,” declared the lad, who had stopped his flight and had come up behind the boys. “Do not believe him, señores!”

Adrian turned at the sound of the lad’s voice. “Which are we to believe?” he asked.

“Believe me,” exclaimed the lad imploringly. “If you let them take me, I do not know what they will do with me.”

“Why are they chasing you?” asked Don.

“I don’t know, unless it is because they do not like my father.”

“Who is your father?”

“General Sanchez, of President Madero’s staff.”

“Who are these?” and Don pointed to the waiting horsemen.

“I don’t know who that man is,” replied the lad, pointing to the leader, “but the others are peons on my uncle’s hacienda.”

“Is this true?” asked Don, turning to the pursuers, while Billie and Adrian tenderly fondled their rifles.

“Partly,” replied the leader. “But you heard him say he did not know who I am. Well, I am one of his uncle’s closest friends. I learned this morning that Pedro,” and he pointed at the boy, “was getting into bad company, and so came out to look for him. I found him in bad company and told him he must come home with me. He refused and rode away. I then started after him. If I were not his uncle’s friend, do you think I would have his uncle’s peons with me?”

“It hardly seems so,” replied Donald; “but, if

you are such a good friend of his uncle, it’s a wonder he does not know you. How about that, Pedro,” and he again turned to the boy.

“It’s all a lie,” was the emphatic reply. “I was out watching the men at work at the foot of the mountains this morning, when this man rode up. He told me to come with him. Never having seen him, I refused, whereupon he threatened to flog me. I jumped on my horse and rode away. A few minutes later he came after me, making all sorts of threats. Then he summoned the peons and chased me. They seem to do everything he tells them, but I do not know why.”

“It sure is a queer mix-up,” said Donald to his companions, in English, “and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll tell you what,” exclaimed Billie, after the matter had been fully explained to him, “let’s all ride back to his uncle’s, wherever that is, and see what he says.”

“Why, sure,” said Donald. “Billie, you’ll make a judge some day. We’ll go at once.”

When the proposed plan was explained to the Mexicans, both sides to the controversy quickly acquiesced, and, turning their horses about, the combined parties started toward the mountains, Pedro leading the way.

The road ran along the bank of the Concho for a couple of miles, and then turned abruptly toward

the foothills. It was a beautiful valley, and the Broncho Rider Boys were much interested in the scenery. They passed several small groups of adobe houses, which Pedro explained were on his uncle’s estate, which seemed very large.

“There is the house,” Pedro at length explained, pointing to a fine appearing place on the top of a small hill. “It’s only a couple of miles farther.”

So interested had the boys become in what Pedro was telling them that they had paid very little attention to the rest of the company, until, as they rounded a turn in the now rocky road, Adrian discovered that the man who had made all the trouble had disappeared. Adrian quickly turned and rode back a few rods to where he could get an unobstructed view of the road behind, and there was Mr. Mexican riding away as fast as his horse could carry him.

“What shall we do?” queried Adrian, as soon as he had called the others back.

“Nothing, I should say,” was Donald’s advice. “It looks like the question of who was right and who wrong had settled itself. I say good riddance. What do you say, Pedro?”

“I say let him go. I don’t want him; but I should like to know who he is.” Then to the peons: “Do you know who he is?”

The peons looked stupidly at each other, but made no reply.

“Why don’t you answer?” asked Donald sharply. “Who is that man?”

“Quien sabe!” was the exasperating answer, as the men shrugged their shoulders in a manner which reminded Billie so much of a vaudeville act that he burst into a hearty laugh.

“Quien sabe!” he repeated. “Well, I know enough Spanish to understand that they don’t know. But why don’t they know?”

“It’s too deep for me,” replied Adrian. “The whole affair is too mysterious for anyone but a Sherlock Holmes to ferret out; but there is certainly no need of our going any farther in this direction, and I move that we start back.”

“You won’t have any trouble in getting home now, will you?” he asked, turning to Pedro.

“Oh, no; and are you going back to the Rio Brava?”

“To the what?” asked Donald.

“The Rio Brava.”

“He means the Rio Grande,” explained Adrian. “The Mexicans call it the Rio Brava, and that is the way it is on their maps. I saw one of their geographies once.”

“Then we’re going back to the Rio Brava,” laughed Billie, “and I hope we get there before it begins to rain.”

Whereupon, bidding good-by to Pedro, who was

most profound in his thanks, they started on their return ride.

They had not been riding more than half an hour before the clouds, which had been getting blacker and blacker, became so angry-looking that they determined to seek shelter, and turned their horses’ heads toward one of the little cluster of houses they had passed earlier in the day.

[CHAPTER V.—A NIGHT IN A MEXICAN KITCHEN.]

By the time the boys reached the little cluster of adobe buildings, the rain was descending in torrents, and, in spite of the tropical surroundings, the air was much too cold to be comfortable. As they approached the first house on the outskirts of the hamlet, the door opened and a blanketed peon, preceded by half a dozen dogs of all kinds and conditions, made his appearance. Rushing at the horses, the dogs made the neighborhood hideous with their barking, but they made no attempt to do more.

“What do you want?” called out the man, speaking in Spanish.

“Call off your dogs,” replied Donald, “so we can talk with you.”

The man did as requested, and the animals grouped themselves around him in the doorway.

“We want a place to get in out of the rain and something to eat,” Donald continued, as soon as the barking had ceased.

“There is no place here,” replied the peon.

“What is this building?” and Donald pointed at a small hut at one side, which was covered with a thatched roof.

“It’s the kitchen.”

“What does he say?” asked Billie, who hadn’t been able to gain the faintest idea of the conversation.

“He says that’s the kitchen,” replied Adrian.

“Huh!” grunted Billie, “looks more like a pigpen.”

“What’s the matter with our going in there until it stops raining?” continued Donald, pressing his inquiries.

“You can go in there, if you want to, but there is nothing for you to eat.”

“No eggs?”

“No.”

“No tortillas?”

“No.”

“No frijolles?”

“No.”

“We will pay you well,” added Donald.

The peon’s manner underwent a remarkable change.

“Perhaps the señora has a few tortillas,” he said. “I’ll go and see.”

He turned and quickly entered the house, returning in a minute to say that there were both tortillas—corn

cakes—and beans, and inviting the boys to alight.

“There is no room in my casa,” he said, “but, if the young señores will be satisfied to go into the kitchen, I will make a fire and the señora will get them something to eat.”

The boys needed no second bidding, and, quickly dismounting, they threw their bridle-reins over some cactus growing about, and went inside.

“I’d rather eat out of doors,” declared Billie, after looking the place over.

“So would I,” said Adrian, “if it were not for the rain.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” ventured Donald philosophically, “I’ve seen worse places than this. Do you remember the Zunis?”

“It was always dry there,” declared Billie.

“Yes, and there were always plenty of snakes,” laughed Adrian, who never had forgotten Billie’s aversion to reptiles since his visit to the snake dancers.

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the peon’s wife, who proceeded to make a fire in the Mexican range, as the boys called the few bricks set up on edge. From a little earthen dish she produced a few thin corn cakes, which she toasted over the fire. When they were properly done, she put them on a dish and poured over them

a couple of spoonfuls of black beans. These she offered to the boys to eat.

Billie looked at it askance.

“I thought I was glad to eat a woman’s cooking at Presidio last night,” he said. “If this is a sample of Mexican women’s cooking, I’d rather get my own meals.”

However, they were all hungry, and the beans and tortillas soon disappeared.

“How much are you going to pay him for this, Don?” queried Adrian. “You said you would pay him well.”

“I don’t know. Do you think fifty cents is enough?”

“Try him and see.”

Donald took a silver half dollar from his pocket and held it out toward the man, who had been watching the boys in silence. He looked stupidly at it, but made no move to take it.

“Don’t you want it?” asked Donald.

“No, señor; it is too much.”

“How much do you want?”

“A real is plenty.”

A real is worth in American money about seven cents.

“Oh, take it,” urged Donald in Spanish, “although I think a real is all it’s worth,” he added in English, which the peon could not understand.

Thus urged the man took the coin and bowed low

with many expressions of thanks. The coin also seemed to have loosened his tongue, and he urged the boys to make themselves perfectly at home.

“My poor house is yours,” he declared, “as long as you will honor it with your presence. I will go and give your horses some straw.”

Suiting the action to the word, he hastily left the hut, and, looking through the door, the boys saw him leading the animals to a little corral a short distance from the kitchen.

The rain continued to descend almost in sheets.

“This must be the way it rained in the days of Noah,” Billie suggested.

“Yes,” replied Adrian, “and it looks as though it might continue for forty days. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What had we better do?” asked Billie, thinking about the ride back to Presidio.

“What can we do?” echoed Donald. “We never could find our way back to the Rio Grande in this rain, and, if we did, we would find it so full of water we couldn’t get across. The only thing we can do is to stay right here till it stops raining.”

And stay they did.

The afternoon passed and darkness fell. The peon brought in a candle stuck into a most unique candlestick, which must have been the property of some ancient Don. The boys wondered where he got it, but did not think it wise to inquire. They

knew too little Spanish to engage in anything like a general conversation with the man, but they did manage to get enough out of him to discover that he was much dissatisfied. Why, they could not make out.

Along about nine o’clock, the peon and his wife betook themselves off to the other hut, which served as their main house, and the boys, piling their saddles in the doorway, to keep out any stray dog that might be prowling about, rolled themselves up in their blankets, stretched themselves out on the floor, and were soon asleep.

How long he had slept, Billie could not tell, when he was awakened by a most unusual noise. The rain was still falling, although not in such torrents. At first Billie thought that the noise was caused by the rain on the thatched roof; but he soon became convinced that such was not the case. Finally he reached over and shook the sleeper nearest to him. It happened to be Adrian.

“What’s the matter?” queried that young gentleman, sitting up and peering into the darkness.

“I don’t know,” whispered Billie, “but it sounds as though some one were trying to get in.”

“Where?”

“That’s what I can’t make out.”

Adrian pulled his saddle-bag toward him and took out his electric torch. Slowly he pointed it in

every direction, but he could see nothing unusual, although the strange noise continued.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he said, and then he arose to his feet.

As he did so, Billie glanced up at the speaker, and what he saw caused a broad grin to overspread his rotund countenance.

“Look!” he exclaimed, and pointed toward the roof.

Adrian did as he was told, and burst into a hearty laugh, which aroused Donald.

“What is it?” he exclaimed, also springing to his feet.

“Goats,” laughed Billy. “They’re climbing all over the roof.”

And sure enough they were, for what Billie had seen was the hoof of one of them sticking through the roof.

“They’ll all be coming through, first thing you know,” said Billie.

“I’m not so much afraid of that as that they will make holes for the rain to come through,” declared Adrian. “We must scare them off. Shoo!”

But he might as well have cried shoo at the moon.

“Wait a minute,” exclaimed Billie, “I’ll fix them.”

He crawled over to the other side of the kitchen, where a great dry cactus stem was leaned up against

the side of the wall. It was as thick as a man’s leg, about six or eight feet long, and almost as light as cork. Waiting until he was satisfied by the sound that a goat was directly over his head, he gave a great thrust with the cactus log.

His aim was a good one. With a loud bleat, that was almost a wail, the goat went tumbling off the roof, and in a minute the boys heard it pattering away as fast as it could scamper. Twice during the night was the feat repeated, the only inconvenience it caused being that the boys did not sleep as soundly as they otherwise would.

After the last interruption Billie did not return to sleep, but lay awake thinking about the strange experiences of the past two days. As a result he saw daylight slowly breaking, and finding himself so wide awake, he determined to go and tend to the horses.

Removing the saddles from the doorway, he went out. The rain had ceased and there was every indication of a fine day. After taking a critical survey of the landscape, he went to the corral and examined the horses, to see that they were all right, after which he led them to a pool some distance away to water.

The whole proceeding consumed some fifteen or twenty minutes, so that, by the time he was ready to return to the hut, the sun was just rising above the horizon.

Giving the horses an armful of straw, which he found under a little shed, he started back to awaken his companions, when, to his surprise, he found himself confronted by the whole pack of wolfish dogs, who not only refused to let him advance, but threatened to attack him.

He uttered a loud “Halloo,” but no one seemed to hear him.

“Get out of my way,” he shouted, but his words only seemed to make the animals more furious.

Again he uttered a loud “Halloo,” and again no one replied.

By this time the dogs had become more courageous, and it began to look like a very serious situation, so that Billie, in order to defend himself, drew his six-shooter, determined to use it on the first of the dogs who should make up his mind to attack him.

Once more, however, he called aloud, and in response to the shout Donald appeared at the door, just as Billie was taking aim at a big gaunt hound which seemed determined to spring upon him.

“Don’t do it,” called Donald. “Don’t shoot unless you want to get us into all sorts of trouble.”

“Why not?” asked Billie. “I’m not going to be made dog meat.”

“You’ll be made worse than that if you kill one of the peon’s dogs.”

Just what might have been the outcome of the

situation is hard to tell, had not a voice of authority suddenly rang out from the direction of the house:

“Vaya te, perros! Vaya te!”[1]

The dogs ceased their angry barking, and slunk hastily away, while Billie, looking in the direction from which the voice proceeded, saw Pedro riding around the kitchen.

[CHAPTER VI.—ADRIAN MAKES A CAPTURE.]

“By George!” exclaimed Billie, as he advanced to meet Pedro, “you surely did come right in the nick of time. I thought I’d have to become dog-meat, just to keep the others out of trouble, and I was going to do it.”

“I don’t think that would have been necessary,” declared Donald, as he came out from the kitchen, followed by Adrian. “But I’m glad you got out of the trouble without killing the peon’s dog. I know how much the peons think of their dogs—more than their wives.”

“I’m very sorry,” said Pedro, “that you should have had so much trouble, and that I did not take you home with me yesterday. My uncle says I was very rude not to have brought you home to breakfast.”

“Breakfast!” exclaimed Billie. “How could you have taken us home to breakfast? It was after eleven o’clock when we met you.”

Donald laughed.

“You don’t understand,” he said; “in Mexico

they call the meal that we name breakfast simply coffee, as that is all they have to break their morning fast. From eleven to half-past twelve they have what they call almuerzo, or breakfast. Along about five o’clock they have cena, or supper, and dinner comes anywhere from seven to ten o’clock. This they call comida.”

Billie’s round face expanded into a broad smile.

“Four meals a day!” he finally exclaimed. “Fine! I think I’d like to live in Mexico.”

“I’m sure we’d like to have you,” laughed Pedro, “and now that I have found you again, you must come with me and have coffee. Then my uncle will send someone with you to show you the short way back to the Rio Brava.”

The Broncho Rider Boys looked at each other knowingly as Adrian explained that they were not at all anxious to find a short road back, as they wished to see as much of the country as possible.

“That’s fine,” was Pedro’s exultant exclamation, “for, if you are in no hurry, you can stay with us several days, and I can take you up the Concho. I surely want to do something to show you how much I appreciate what you did for me yesterday. My uncle thinks I was in great danger.”

“How so?” asked Donald.

“Get onto your horses, and I’ll tell you as you ride along,” replied Pedro. “Here, Fillipe!” he called, “come and saddle the horses.”

Not only Fillipe, but several other peons, who had made their appearance while the boys were talking, hastened to obey Pedro’s command, and in a very few minutes the four boys were jogging along toward the Hacienda del Rio, for so the estate of Pedro’s uncle was called.

“Now for the story,” laughed Billie, “and I wish you would tell it in English so I can understand.”

“If you won’t laugh at my English,” said Pedro, “I’ll try.”

“What, do you speak English?” asked Adrian.

“A little. My sister, Guadalupe, speaks it well, as does my uncle; but they call me the lazy one, because I have never tried very hard. I’m sorry now I didn’t try harder.”

“Well, try now,” insisted Billie. “We have so many foreigners in the United States and so many speak poor English that we can understand most anything.”

Pedro laughed heartily.

“I hope I can do as well as some; so, to begin with, I must tell you something about my home. We live on a large hacienda, in the State of Michoa-can, and our house is built only a little ways from the shore of a small lake, Tiasca by name. On the other side of this lake are mountains, very much like these across the Concho,” and he pointed across the river to the west.

“On the shore of the lake, nearest the mountains, is a little village of fisher-folk, but they are a bad lot. They are lazy and dishonest. They steal at every opportunity. Hardly a week passes that some of them do not cross the lake and steal chickens, pigs, goats, and even cattle. We call them pirates, because they come over in little boats. They have always been bad, but since they became Zapatists they are worse than ever.”

“What do you mean by Zapatists?” asked Adrian.

“Followers of the robber, Zapata. You must have heard about him.”

“Now that you explain, I believe I have. So these men are followers of Zapata?”

“Yes; and before the days of President Madero they were a part of what was known as the Las Cruces robbers.

“Well, ever since my father was a young officer he has always had trouble with these pirates.”

“Do they ever try to break into your house?” queried Billie.

“They did once, and that is part of the story. It happened when Guadalupe was a baby and I was only a little more. My father was away at the time with almost all the rurales in the district, and the robbers must have known that there were only a few peons left to guard the house.

“Three of them came to the gate and demanded that my mother give them five hundred dollars. She

refused, and they threatened to come and get it. Mother was not much afraid, as our house is very strongly built of stone; but still she took every precaution to see that they could not break in; but that night about twenty-five of them surrounded the house and sat down to a regular siege.”

“Couldn’t you shoot them from the windows?” asked Billie.

“I suppose we could, but mother didn’t wish to do that. So she just kept everything shut tight, expecting every hour that my father would return.

“After they had been there three days, one of our peons, Jose Gonzales, who had been away to Morelia on an errand, came home. He said that, as he came up the shore of the lake, he heard a group of the pirates saying that they were getting afraid to stay longer, and that they were going back across the lake. Sure enough, they did, and my mother was so relieved, especially to have Jose home, for he was considered above the ordinary run of peons, that she ceased her watchfulness and turned the care of the place over to Jose.

“Along about midnight my sister was taken sick, and my mother was obliged to get up to take care of her. As she came out into the rotunda and cast her eyes across the patio toward the great front gate, she saw a sight which frightened her nearly to death. Jose was standing in the half-open gate, talking to men whom my mother knew must be the

pirates. She realized at once that he was a traitor, and, drawing quickly back into her room, she barred the door as best she could, and waited to see what would happen.

“She didn’t have long to wait, as the robbers soon attempted to get in; but for a long time the bar held. Then Jose brought a great hammer and the door finally yielded.”

“The villain!” exclaimed Billie, whose fighting blood was stirred by the recital of such treachery.

“It is even worse than you think,” continued Pedro, “for, as the pirates rushed in, Jose called out, as he pointed to my father’s strong box: 'There is the silver. You can have that, but the señora is mine.’

“At this he seized my mother, and started to carry her out of the door; but, as he turned, he saw a sight which caused him to loose his hold and draw his knife, for there in the door stood my father, his drawn saber in his hand and death in his eye. He took a step forward and aimed a blow at Jose, but as he struck, my mother, overcome with joy, seized him around the knees and spoiled his aim. Instead of cleaving Jose’s skull, he struck a glancing blow and cut off his left ear. We found the ear later.”

“Good for your father!” exclaimed all the boys. “But then what happened?” and they drew their horses down to a walk, so interested had they become in the story.

“Well, for a moment the robbers were surprised by the attack, but when they saw my father was alone, they all turned upon him and he would undoubtedly have been killed, but that his men, who had by this time overpowered the robbers in the patio, came to his aid. The bandits were soon secured, but in the fight and darkness, Jose escaped. We afterwards learned that he had been an accomplice of the bandits for years and had planned this attack for the sole purpose of stealing my mother. His aim was to become a gentleman and live in the City of Mexico, and for a while he did. Later my father learned of his whereabouts and his arrest was ordered, but again he managed to escape.

“During the Madero revolution he tried to win the good graces of President Madero, but his record was too bad and President Madero ordered him out of the city. Since that time he has threatened vengeance on the President and all his friends. It is even said he is trying to start a new revolution. He is none too good, I can tell you.”

“But what has all this to do with your great danger?” asked Adrian.

“Why, my uncle thinks Jose is the man from whom you rescued me yesterday.”

“What!” exclaimed all the boys in chorus. “That man!”

“That’s what my uncle thinks. He has been reported in this vicinity. He has changed his name

to Rafael Solis and I heard one of the peons yesterday address him as Don Rafael.”

“I didn’t notice that he had lost an ear,” said Donald.

“No,” said Billie, “but you noticed that he wore his hair unusually long, didn’t you? I expect he does that to hide the missing ear.”

“That’s it exactly!” exclaimed Donald. “I knew there was something strange about his appearance, but for the life of me I couldn’t tell what it was.”

“Well, that’s it,” replied Billie, “and if I ever get my eye on you again, Mr. Don Rafael, I’ll know you.”

“You mustn’t say Mr. Don Rafael,” explained Pedro. “Don means Mr. If you want to, you can call him Don Rafael; but as for me I shall think of him always as Jose the traitor.

“But here we are at my uncle’s house and he will be more than glad to see you.”

As the little cavalcade drew up in front of the great white house, a peon opened the big gate and the quartette rode into the patio. Other servants quickly took their horses and led them to the stable, while Pedro escorted the boys up a broad flight of stairs to the second floor, on which were located the parlors, library and dining room. It was a beautiful home and our boys felt just a little bit awkward on coming into such a sumptuous house dressed in their travel-stained riding garments.

But if they had any sense of being out of place, they were quickly put at their ease by a kindly faced gentleman of middle age, who advanced to the head of the stairs and greeted them pleasantly.

“These are the brave Americans who gave me such unexpected assistance yesterday,” said Pedro by way of introduction.

“I guessed as much,” replied his uncle.

“And this is my uncle, Don Antonio Sanchez,” said Pedro to the boys, “he is just as glad to see you and to have you here as I am. And uncle,” he continued without stopping to catch his breath, “they are going to stay with me several days, aren’t you?” to the boys.

“I don’t think we promised, did we?” replied Donald, “but we will stay today, anyway. We shall be pleased to see something of the Concho valley.”

Don Antonio lead the way to the dining room, where the boys were introduced to Pedro’s aunt and to his sister, Guadalupe.

If the boys had been embarrassed upon meeting Don Antonio, they were more so upon meeting Guadalupe, who was something different from any girl they had ever met. When she was introduced to Billie and called him Don Guillermo, he turned as red as a turkey gobbler and wished he was somewhere else; but, after a few minutes, he forgot his embarrassment in his morning meal—for when it

came to eating, there was nothing could interfere with the business of the moment.

Don Antonio and his wife were much pleased with the boys and asked Donald and Adrian many questions about the big ranches from which they came. Both were able to give him all the information he wanted and he insisted that after breakfast all should ride over his hacienda and see the American improvements he had put upon it.

A member of Don Antonio’s household who attracted much attention from the boys was a great Newfoundland dog, by the name of Tanto. He was Guadalupe’s special property, and at first eyed the boys with a good deal of suspicion. But, when he discovered that they were friends of the family, he became quite as friendly as any of the others.

“He seems very fond of you,” said Billie to Guadalupe, in an attempt to make himself agreeable to the beautiful señorita.

“Yes, indeed,” she replied. “I raised him from a puppy. Are you fond of dogs, Don Guillermo?”

“Oh, yes,” interrupted Adrian, who overheard the remark, “Don Guillermo is very fond of dogs. If you could have seen him playing with them, about daylight this morning, you would have thought so,” at which remark all the boys laughed heartily, and Billie had to explain his adventure.

“Well, I think it was too bad that you should be caught in such a place; but Tanto will never do a

thing like that. Will you, Tanto?” and she patted the dog’s head.

“Come on,” called Pedro from the patio, “if we’re going to look over the hacienda, let’s get started before it gets any warmer.”

Accompanied by Don Antonio, the boys rode from place to place over the great farm, along the eastern border of which the Concho river wound its way, while on the other side the mountains rose abruptly to several hundred feet. At the southern extremity the river approached almost to the foot of the mountains, making a narrow neck of land. Still farther south the river broadened out into quite a lake, upon which were a number of small boats.

As the boys turned to retrace their path, Adrian lingered a moment to watch the flight of a flock of water-fowl, and, as he did so, his attention was attracted to the movements of a boat, which had put out from the mountain-side, and which had started the flight of the water-fowl. It contained three men, and, as it slipped silently out of the shadows of the overhanging trees, there was something about the appearance of the man at the stern which seemed most familiar, although he had his blanket thrown over his shoulder in such a manner as to conceal his face.

At first Adrian started to call his companions, but upon second thought he decided to do a little reconnoitering on his own hook. He accordingly

dismounted from his horse, and walked slowly around the trees which obscured his view. At his left was a little point of land, extending out into the water, and he slowly and cautiously made his way thither. From this point of vantage he obtained a good view of the river for quite a distance, and could see the boat without being seen.

It was very evident that the boat had come out of a little inlet about a hundred yards from the point upon which Adrian was standing, which appeared to be the mouth of a small brook. On the other side of the point, around which the boat was slowly being rowed, was a steep rock, at least three times the length of an ordinary skiff, beyond which it was impossible for Adrian to see. The boat headed directly for the rock, and a moment later disappeared behind it; but that one look was sufficient to convince Adrian that the man who had attracted his attention was the same who had tried to steal Pedro.

“I wonder what he is doing around here, anyway?” soliloquized Adrian. “No good, I’m sure. The best thing I can do is to hurry after the rest of them and tell them what I have seen. They’ll be wondering where I am.”

Hastily he scrambled up the bank to where he had left his horse, when, just as he raised his head above the edge, he felt a hand grasp his right foot, and he was pulled violently downward. For just

a minute he clung to the shrubbery about him, and then, gaining his wits, he suddenly relaxed his hold and, turning half way round, push himself backward.

It was an old trick he had learned at school, and the result was that he came down on top, instead of underneath, the man who had grasped his ankle.

In another moment he was engaged in a rough-and-tumble fight, which proved of short duration, for Adrian was much more than a match for his assailant. Almost as soon as it takes to tell it, Adrian was sitting on top of a white-shirted peon, whose only weapon was a great stone, with which he had doubtless intended to intimidate, rather than hit, the boy.

“Well,” exclaimed Adrian, as soon as he had gained his breath sufficiently to speak, “what do you mean by dragging me down like this?”

At the sound of Adrian’s voice the peon turned his head and looked up at his captor in the greatest surprise.

“Pardon me,” he whined. “It was a mistake. I thought you were someone else.”

“Who did you think I was?”

“El niño de Sanchez”—meaning the Sanchez boy—whined the peon.

“Oh, you did, eh?” exclaimed Adrian. “Well, you come with me and let Don Antonio question you. I think he is looking for you.”

[CHAPTER VII.—IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY.]

Adrian did not have to lead his captive far, for, when he reached the place where his horse was waiting for him, he saw the others returning. They had become concerned at his delay, and had come back to look for him.

“What’s the matter?” called Donald, as soon as he was within speaking distance.

“I’ve had a fight,” was the response, “and this is the result,” pushing the peon forward.

“Fight!” exclaimed Billie. “What were you fighting about?”

“Oh, nothing. This man tried to capture me, and I turned the tables, that’s all.”

“Explain,” said Don Antonio, looking first at Adrian and then at the peon.

“This man mistook me for Pedro, he says, and tried to drag me into the river, or somewhere.”

Don Antonio turned upon the peon fiercely.

“Is this true?” he demanded sternly.

“Forgive me, señor,” whined the peon, “I was ordered to do it.”

“Ordered!” thundered Don Antonio. “By whom?”

“Don Rafael.”

“Asi!” exclaimed Don Antonio, and his face grew even more stern. “So it is that scoundrel who put you up to this? Where is he?”

The peon remained silent.

“Where is he, I say?” repeated Don Antonio.

“I can’t tell.”

“Why not?”

“He would kill me, señor.”

“Have no fear. If you will tell me why you tried to take Pedro and where we can catch Don Rafael, as you call him, I will give you ample protection.”

Thus encouraged, the peon said that Don Rafael was hiding in the mountains a short distance from the river. He said that he had gathered about him a band of more than fifty men, and that he had told them they were to be part of a new army to overthrow President Madero and make Porfirio Diaz again president. In order to protect themselves, he told them they must make a captive of General Sanchez’s son, Pedro.

“I see,” exclaimed Don Antonio. “They want to hold Pedro as a hostage, in case any of them get into the hands of the law. Isn’t that it?”

“Si, señor,” said the peon, nodding his head emphatically.

If this proved to be true then Donald’s guess had been along correct lines. This little fact seemed like a good omen to begin with. Now, if it turned out that this further prediction regarding the limited number of the rustlers also came to pass, and they could only catch them off their guard before dawn arrived, it would not be strange if they turned the trick, daring as their plans might appear.

“Now, first of all we’ve got to muffle our ponies’ heads so they can’t betray us by neighing,” announced Donald.

“A good idea, I say,” Adrian went on to remark, approvingly. “I’ve known the best trained cayuse going to let out a neigh when it scented some of its own kind near by. That’s a thing they just can’t help, seems like. So, the sooner we get their muzzles tied up the better.”

“You’ll have to show me how,” said Billie; “because that’s where my education’s been sorter neglected, so to speak. But I want to know, just stick a pin in that, please.”

He soon learned just how this could be accomplished by the aid of their blankets. The horses objected to such treatment, but had to submit in the end. And when the job had been completed they were so muzzled that they could not have whinnied, no matter how hard they tried.

Mounting them again the three boys moved cautiously ahead. It was their purpose to cover a cer- [Transcriber's note: missing line(s) of text at this place in original printed text.]

can get away. The rurales can take care of the fifty others later on.“

“That is good advice,” declared Don Antonio. “Let us hasten back and send a messenger to Presidio del Norte, and then we can return and watch for Don Rafael.”

“I don’t see any use of all of us returning to the house,” declared Billie. “I’ll stay here and watch the river.”

“And I’ll stay with you,” declared Adrian.

“Suppose we fix it this way,” said Don Antonio: “Pedro and one of you return to the house and send the messenger, and I and two others will stay and watch the river, as Don Guillermo says.”

“If Don Guillermo’s willing,” replied Adrian, with a laugh at Billie’s Mexican name.

“Sure I’m willing,” said Billie, “and tell the rurales to hurry up or we’ll capture the whole bunch.”

The matter having been thus decided, Pedro and Donald returned to the house, taking the captured peon with them, while the other three hitched their horses and proceeded to the little point of land from which Adrian made his observation.

The morning was now far spent, and the sun was rapidly approaching the meridian; but for once Billie seemed to have forgotten that it was dinnertime. In fact, so interested was he in the adventure, that he seemed utterly oblivious of the sun itself, which beat down fiercely upon the trio, and

made the shade almost a necessity. So interested was he, in fact, that he ventured to the very edge of the point, and peered eagerly in the direction of the great rock.

“I could almost swim around there,” he said to himself. “I’ve a great notion to do it.”

For a minute he stood undecided.

“If it wasn’t for my Marlin I would,” he mused. “As it is, I guess I’d better go around.”

He walked back toward the place where he had left the others, all the time looking for a place where he could get around behind the big rock.

“What are you looking after?” queried Adrian, as Billie passed the spot where he sat with his eyes glued on the river.

“I want to see what is the other side of that rock.”

“What good’ll that do? We can see way up the river from here.”

“I don’t know,” was Billie’s response, “but I’ve got a hunch to take a look.”

“Well, go ahead. Don Antonio and I will stay here. If you see anything, call.”

Slowly Billie forced his way through the fringe of bushes that lined the bank, and, little by little, climbed to the top of the big rock, from which he could gain just as good a view of the mountainous country at the side as he could of the river. What he saw caused him to drop hastily to the ground and

crawl a step or two backward, for directly in front of him, not a hundred yards away, was a score or more men grouped around Don Rafael, who was addressing them earnestly.

Waiting to see whether or not he had been observed, and judging from the fact that there was no commotion from below that he had not, Billie cautiously peered through the foliage.

The spot upon which the men were gathered was right at the mouth of the little stream before mentioned. A boat, evidently the one in which Adrian had seen Don Rafael and his two companions, was tied to the bank.

So far as Billie could see, only three or four of the men were armed. They seemed a peaceable lot.

“I wonder what he is telling them?” mused Billie in a partly audible voice—a habit of talking with himself of which he seemed totally unconscious. “I wish I could get near enough to hear.”

Cautiously he crept nearer the edge of the rock, in the meantime straining every nerve to catch a word. Once he did catch the sound of Don Rafael’s voice, but he could not understand.

“The trouble is,” explained Billie to himself, “he is talking Spanish, and I’m not familiar enough with the lingo to distinguish the sounds. I wish he would talk English.”

Again he advanced his position a couple of feet.

The voice was more distinct, and, as Don Rafael became somewhat excited, Billie caught the words, “carbina” and “macheté,” which he knew referred to arms.

“By George!” suddenly exclaimed Billie, in a voice loud enough for anyone near him to have heard, “I’ll bet they’re talking about running guns into the country. I’ll bet we’ve stumbled onto the very thing we came out to find. I must hurry back and tell Ad.”

Unmindful of the men below, he jumped up from his recumbent position and started to leave the rock the way he had come. In his haste, he did not notice that the spot upon which he had been reclining was covered with moss, and, as he took his first step forward, his foot slipped; he grasped frantically at the surrounding bushes, to save himself, failed in his attempt, and the next moment pitched head first off the rock.

Vainly he tried to break his fall by catching at the shrubbery. His efforts only resulted in his turning almost a complete somersault and landing head first upon the sand, in the very midst of the men upon whom he had been spying.

As he fell, he gave one cry for help, and then, as his head came into contact with the hard ground, all around him became dark, and he knew no more.

The cry for help reached his companions in the midst of an animated discussion about Mexico and

its needs, and they sprang to their feet on the instant. For just a moment they waited to hear the cry repeated, but, when it was not, Adrian threw a shell into his repeater, and started in the direction of the cry, closely followed by Don Antonio, whose greater age made him somewhat slower in his movements.

From the time the cry was heard until Adrian reached the summit of the rock, could not have been more than three minutes, but in that time the men and Billie had completely disappeared, the only thing remaining to give any idea of what had happened being Billie’s hat, which had fallen from his head in his fall, and the sound of oarlocks, which seemed to come from up the little creek.

[CHAPTER VIII.—IN THE SMUGGLER’S CAVE.]

The soft purling of water was the first sound which greeted Billie’s ear when he was again able to collect his thoughts. He was lying upon his back and looking up into darkness. He tried to move, but was unable to do so, and so closed his eyes and tried to think what had happened.

As his mind became clearer, he remembered his fall; and, as he became more and more normal, and could move his hands about, he realized that he was lying in the bottom of a boat and that the purling of the water was caused by the rapid movement of the boat through the water.

“I wonder what makes it so dark?” he thought. “It was dinnertime the last I remember, and I don’t feel as though I had been asleep very long.”

All at once the noise of the water ceased, and a moment later he heard the boat grate upon the sand. A man sprang over him and beached the boat, and Billie could feel it being pulled up onto the shore. Then a light appeared, and in another minute a man

with a lighted torch in his hand came and peered into the boat.

“Buenos noches,” Billie exclaimed, after the man had been gazing silently into his face for several seconds. “Que hora es?”

He thought it must be quite right to say “good evening” because it was dark, but he asked the time to make sure.

The man made no reply, but turned and walked hastily away.

“That’s funny,” said Billie. “I think I’ll follow him.”

He attempted to arise, but a strange feeling in his head and in the pit of his stomach caused him to forego the attempt.

“I must be hungry,” he thought. “That’s what I get for going without my dinner. But I’ve been hungry before and never felt this way.”

Somehow or other he didn’t seem able to figure it out, and so he closed his eyes and lay perfectly quiet, with a sense of going to sleep.

The next time he opened his eyes, the whole scene had changed. He was lying on some sort of a coarse bed and by the light that came in through a small grated window in the ceiling, he could see that he was in a good-sized room, the walls of which appeared to be solid stone.

There were several pieces of furniture in the room, consisting of chairs, a table and a chest of

drawers. On the walls were a couple of old-fashioned gun-racks, but no guns. The general impression it gave was not pleasant, and reminded him of some of the old Scotch prisons he had read about in the works of Sir Walter Scott.

“I wonder where I am,” was the first thought that came to his mind. “I’m out of the boat, that’s certain, but how did I get here?”

Again he attempted to arise, and this time found that he was stronger and able to sit up.

He made a careful inspection of the room, and discovered that there was only one door, directly facing the bed, and no windows save the one in the ceiling. Then he happened to think of his revolver, and felt for it. It was gone, but his holster and belt, filled with cartridges, still remained about his waist.

“I’m in a jolly nice fix,” he muttered to himself, and, for want of anything better to do, he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, still wondering what had happened.

A few minutes later he heard the door open, footsteps approach his bed, and a hand was laid upon his head.

Billie looked up through half-closed eyelids, and was surprised to see bending over him a strange-looking individual, who reminded him strongly of the Zuni medicine man, only that his face was more refined.

“What do you think of him, Santiago?” asked a voice in English, whose owner Billie could not see, but which sounded somewhat familiar.

“I do not think he is badly hurt. I think he will be all right soon.”

“Bueno! Then I will leave him in your care; but see to it that he does not escape. Our safety may depend upon keeping him prisoner.”

“That’s nice, pleasant information,” thought Billie as he heard the speaker withdraw. “To be kept a prisoner, am I? Well, we’ll see about it.”

He uttered a faint groan and threw his hands over his head as though in pain.

“I’ll not get well as fast as they expect,” was his mental resolve. “I’ll make them think I’m too sick to get away until the right time comes.”

Again Billie felt a hand upon his head and again he observed the man beside him with half closed eyes.

When the man spoke again his voice was as soft as a woman’s.

“Where do you feel badly?” he asked.

Then for the first time it occurred to Billie to wonder how he happened to be addressed in English.

“It must be a friend,” he thought. So he replied in a voice that sounded most strange to him: “In my head. It seems too big for the rest of me.”

“No wonder,” said his companion—whether

nurse or jailer, Billie was trying to determine. “You struck right on top of it when you fell off the rock.”

It was the first time that Billie had thought of the rock; but at the word, the happenings of all that had gone before came back to him.

“Now I remember,” he thought. “I must have fallen right in the middle of that bunch and they have brought me here—wherever this is. That must have been Don Rafael who was in here; but why are they all talking English?”

It was a bigger problem than he felt like answering, so he just lay quiet as he felt a cooling lotion applied to his head and a pleasant but very pungent odor filled the room.

“I think I’ll go to sleep if you don’t mind,” he finally said and he closed his eyes.

It did not seem to Billie that he had slept more than fifteen minutes when he again opened his eyes, but as he learned afterwards he must have slept nearly twenty-four hours. The strange man still stood beside him, holding in his hand a dish of steaming soup, while at the foot of the bed stood Don Rafael.

For just a moment Billie did not recognize either of them, but was brought to himself by hearing Don Rafael say:

“I am very sorry you met with such a serious accident. I suppose you must have been hunting and

lost your foothold. I have sent word to your friends and am sure they will come for you as soon as you are able to be moved.”

He spoke with such an air of truthfulness, that if Billie had not been absolutely certain that he was a bad man, he would have believed him. However, he said nothing, and after a minute Don Rafael continued:

“You must not think I have any animosity against you for what you did in helping Pedro to escape me. That is a matter of Mexican politics of which you young Americans know nothing. The Americans are all my friends. Now you must eat your dinner. I will come and see you again.”

The word dinner sounded pretty good to Billie and so he felt justified in saying “thank you,” and sitting up in his bed took the soup from Santiago’s hand as Don Rafael left the room.

“You are much better,” said Santiago, as Billie ate his soup as only a hungry boy can.

“Yes, I think so; but I don’t feel exactly right yet.”

“You will in a little while. Do you want some more?” as Billie emptied the dish and handed it back.

“I usually eat something besides soup,” declared Billie. “Have you anything else?”

“Oh, yes,” and Santiago took from a tray which he had placed on the table a dish of black beans.

“Frijolles!” exclaimed Billie. “They look pretty good. I’m sure I can eat them,” and eat them he did.

“Are you Don Rafael’s mozo?” he asked as he finally finished his meal.

“Santiago is no man’s servant,” was the soft but dignified reply. “Santiago belongs to Mexico.”

“I wonder what he means by that?” thought Billie, but he didn’t think it wise to ask, so he simply said: “Oh!” But after a few minutes he ventured to ask:

“How do you come to speak English?”

“So that everyone who hears me will not understand. Don Rafael is the only one here who understands English. It is a foreign tongue.”

Again Billie replied “Oh!” to himself. He thought: “Funny, isn’t it, that English is a foreign language. I never thought of it before.”

“Do you wish to get up?” Santiago finally asked.

“After a little. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll lie here a while longer.”

“Very well. I’ll be back soon.”

For a long time Billie lay with wide-open eyes, looking at the ceiling.

“I wonder why I don’t feel like getting up?” he asked himself. “I guess I must have had a hard bump. I wonder where Donald and Adrian are, and if they really do know what has become of me. Of course they’ll come and get me after a

while; but where do you suppose I am? It must be some sort of a cave, I guess.”

He looked at the grated window in the ceiling, through which came the sunlight as the leaves which almost covered it on the outside were blown backward and forward by the breeze.

“I wonder where that opening leads to,” he thought. “If I could only get through that, I’d be all right; but I reckon that’s impossible.”

Still he kept on looking and wishing he were on the other side of the grating.

All at once something shut off the light.

“Hello!” exclaimed Billie. “I wonder what’s happened?”

In another second the obstacle was removed and the sun shone in again, only to be shut out a minute later.

“By George!” exclaimed Billie, sitting up in bed, “there’s something looking in at the window. I believe it’s a dog.”

He got out of bed, and stood directly under the opening, looking upward.

“It is a dog,” he declared. “I wonder whose?” Then all of a sudden: “It might be Pedro’s. Suppose it is! Tanto! Tanto!” he called.

The animal gave a low whine, as of recognition.

“By George, I’m right!” declared Billie, becoming much excited. “There must be somebody with him.

They must be looking for me. Tanto! Tanto!” he again called.

At this the dog gave a sharp bark and immediately disappeared.

For a long time Billie watched the opening for him to reappear, but he did not come back, and Billie finally went and lay down; but not for an instant did he take his eyes from the little window in the ceiling. He could tell by the way the glints of light moved about that fully an hour had passed, when again the opening was darkened and a face appeared at the grating.

“Don Guillermo! Don Guillermo!” a voice softly called, and then Billie recognized that his caller was Pedro’s sister, Guadalupe.

[CHAPTER IX.—GUADALUPE IN DANGER.]

In order to explain Guadalupe’s presence at the grated window in the top of Billie’s prison-house, it is necessary to recount the happenings at the Hacienda del Rio and vicinity since the hour that Billie plunged from the top of the rock into the midst of Don Rafael’s band.

It was shortly after noon when Billie’s accident happened, and Donald and Pedro were on their way to send for the rurales. As we have seen, Adrian and Don Antonio ran to Billie’s assistance, but were too late to discover his whereabouts. They did, however, find his hat, and, in searching more closely, also discovered the print of many feet on the sand along the bank of the creek.

Upon making this discovery, Adrian led the way up the creek for several hundred yards, and finally arrived at a place where the creek seemed to flow right out from under the side of the mountain.

This solved the mystery. There was undoubtedly a cave under the mountain, which was entered

by means of the stream. Adrian was for getting one of the small boats he had seen on the banks of the Concho, and going immediately to Billie’s rescue, but Don Antonio advised that nothing be done until the rurales arrived and there was a sufficient force to arrest Don Rafael and his band.

Adrian finally agreed to the plan, and, after a careful survey of the location, he and Don Antonio returned to the house.

When Donald heard what had happened he was even more insistent than Adrian had been that they should proceed at once to examine the cave. If they found it was in possession of Don Rafael and his band, Donald was in favor of forcing their way in, no matter what the opposition.

“I am sure that would be very unwise,” declared Don Antonio. “Our messenger is already on his way to Presidio del Norte to summon the rurales. They will certainly be here by daylight tomorrow morning. Then we can go in force and will be sure to succeed. If only four of us go, we will probably be overpowered by numbers and your friend may suffer. Let us have patience.”

“Well,” replied Donald slowly, “I’ll agree to wait until morning; but, if the rurales are not here by that time, I shall go after Billie, if I have to go alone.”

“You won’t have to go alone,” said Adrian. “You know that.”

“Indeed you won’t,” chimed in Pedro. “I remember what you did for me.”

The night passed slowly to our boys, and they were up the following morning at sunrise. Coffee was served soon after, and still the rurales had not arrived.

A few minutes later the messenger sent to summon them returned to say that, owing to a report that a quantity of arms were to be run across the river lower down the Rio Grande, most of the rurales had been sent thither, and would not return till morning. This meant they could not possibly reach the Hacienda del Rio before noon.

“That settles it,” declared Donald. “I’m going to find Billie.”

“And I, too,” said Adrian. “I’ll bet the place the rurales have gone is at the same place we lost old Bray.”

“Where was that?” asked Don Antonio.

“At the hacienda of old Pablo Ojeda,” replied Adrian, and he told of their experience.

“I have heard of him often,” said Don Antonio. “He has always been suspected of smuggling across the border—not only cattle, but liquor, ammunition, and all dutiable goods.”

“I should think the rurales would lock him up,” said Pedro.

“They have, several times, but he has always

managed to escape punishment. He has some sort of political influence, which has helped him escape.”

“Well, I don’t care what they do with the old chap,” said Donald. “I’m off to find Billie.”

“I shall stay and guide the rurales,” said Don Antonio. “You boys go and do all the scouting you wish; but take my advice and do nothing rash until I come with the rurales.”

Promising him they would be careful, the little party of three set out, and Don Antonio went to his study to do some writing. Guadalupe, who had stood silently by, listening to the conversation, followed the boys to the great gate, and waved them a good-by, after which she returned to her room and tried to busy herself in her daily tasks. But somehow she could not become interested in her work, and, a little later, calling Tanto, she wandered out into the fields, finally straying to the bank of the river.

For a time she sat on the bank, watching the flowing water, and thinking about the three boys, who had so unexpectedly come into her life. She was much interested in them and their adventures, and her thought went out especially to Billie, whose captivity seemed most hard.

“And he is in all this trouble just because he helped Pedro to escape Don Rafael,” she thought to herself, not knowing that the boys had a mission

of their own. “I wish I could do something to help him.”

After a while she arose and walked slowly up the river, toward the spot where Billie disappeared.

“I mustn’t be walking in this direction,” she suddenly thought, “I might get into trouble.”

Espying a cow-path, which seemed to lead away from the river, she turned to the left, thinking that she would come out into the open field after a little. Instead, she found herself going deeper into the woods, and after a few minutes again sat down to rest, before retracing her footsteps.

She called Tanto, but he did not seem inclined to lie down. Instead, after the manner of dogs, went off on an exploring expedition of his own.

Guadalupe must have fallen asleep, for she was awakened by Tanto licking her face.

“Go away,” she exclaimed, springing to her feet, and then she noted that it was afternoon.

“I must have slept a couple of hours,” she thought. Then, as she started back by the way she had come: “Come, Tanto, we must be going.”

But Tanto refused to go, and when she turned to call him, he indicated by every means he could that he wanted her to go in the opposite direction.

“What is it?” she asked.

Tanto barked loudly, and again started off in the opposite direction, stopping every few feet and looking back to see if she were following.

“Do you want me to go that way?” she asked, taking a few steps toward him.

The dog barked joyfully and gave every evidence of pleasure.

“Well, go on, then,” she finally said. “You may know the way home better than I.”

Off went Tanto on a gentle trot and Guadalupe followed as best she could.

Tanto led the way up a little hill and down the other side to a ravine of some depth. It didn’t look very inviting, and Guadalupe stopped.

“I’m sure this isn’t the way home,” she exclaimed. “Come on back, Tanto.”

But the dog refused to obey, and continued his antics.

“Well,” thought the girl, “I might as well see what he has found,” and she again followed him until he came to a spot were the path terminated abruptly in front of a steep bank which was covered with vines and underbrush.

Up this bank Tanto scrambled, and, with nose to the ground, emitted several sharp barks.

“What is it?” asked Guadalupe, as she, too, climbed to the top of the bank, noticing as she did so that she could see the river through the trees fully half a mile away.

Again the dog barked and put his nose to the ground, while, with his feet, he began to scratch among the leaves.

Looking down to see what he was trying to get, Guadalupe saw the grating, and, a moment later, she was down upon her knees beside the dog.

The grating was partly covered with leaves, so that at first the girl could not make out what it was. Brushing these aside, the opening was revealed, and a moment later she had her eyes down as close as she could get, and was peering into the darkness.

As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she discovered that she was looking into a large room, and gradually she could make out the various pieces of furniture. Then she discovered there was someone on the bed, and having no doubt as to who it was, she called:

“Don Guillermo! Don Guillermo!”

This was the sound which had attracted Billie’s attention.

“Is that you, Don Guillermo?” she asked.

“Yes,” came the whispered reply.

“Are you hurt?” she next asked.

“Not much.”

“Are you a prisoner?”

“Yes; but I’m not going to be long.”

Guadalupe could see that he was getting upon his feet, and partly arose to shift her position, when Tanto sprang back with a deep growl. The next instant she felt herself seized from behind, and, when she would have screamed, a hand was placed firmly over her mouth.

[CHAPTER X.—SANTIAGO’S STRATEGY.]

Guadalupe was a girl of spirit. Through her veins flowed the blood of fighting ancestors, and, when she felt herself so suddenly seized upon, she had no mind to give up her freedom without a struggle.

Wrenching herself free, she gave one scream. Before she could repeat it, she heard Tanto utter a fierce growl, and the next minute felt her captor fall.

Turning quickly to discover what had happened, she saw that Tanto had grasped her assailant by the throat, and that man and dog were engaged in a fierce fight upon the ground at her feet.

Even while she looked the man ceased to struggle and lay still.

Calling to the dog, Guadalupe started to leave the spot, but was prevented by the appearance of two more men. They both started back with surprise, at sight of the girl and dog, and the lifeless figure at their feet.

Turning from the prostrate form, Tanto drew back, facing the newcomers.

“Caramba!” exclaimed one. “Shoot the brute. I’ve left my pistol in the cave.”

“And I, too,” said the other. “I have nothing but my knife.”

“Well, then, use your knife. I’ll take care of the girl,” and he advanced upon Guadalupe.

But Tanto’s blood was up. Everyone but Guadalupe was an enemy. As he stood by the girl’s side, with lips drawn back and every hair erect, he was a foe to be considered. The taste of blood had made him wild. Before the speaker had taken five steps, the dog was at his throat. The force of the attack carried both dog and man to the ground, where for some seconds they fought desperately. But the unarmed peon was no match for the great beast. In a few minutes the conflict was over, and a second figure lay stretched upon the earth, while Guadalupe—unnerved by the sight—covered her face with her hands.

She was brought back to herself by a soft voice saying: “Call off your dog, señorita, and I will help you to get away from here.”

Guadalupe raised her eyes in surprise.

“You need have no fear,” the speaker continued. “I am not making war on women. Call off your dog, or I shall be obliged to kill him,” and Santiago, for it was he, drew a revolver from his breast.

Seeing that the man was armed, when he had declared to his companion that he was not, Guadalupe perceived that he must be friendly, and so called to the dog.

At first Tanto was not inclined to mind, but, after a second command, he left his last victim and placed himself at Guadalupe’s side.

“You can see I could kill your dog,” explained Santiago. “I could have killed him before. But I have no love for these,” and he gave the two bodies a contemptuous kick. “Keep your dog at your side and follow me before someone else comes.”

Even as Santiago spoke, they heard voices, and other men came crashing through the bushes some distance away.

“This way,” said Santiago, and he started in an opposite direction.

But they had no more than reached level ground than they heard voices on the other side.

“It is impossible for us to get away without being seen,” said Santiago. “Can you send the dog home?”

“Yes.”

“Then do so, and trust to me.”

Bending over Tanto, the girl said in a firm, low voice: “Go home, Tanto! Go home and bring my father!”

The dog looked at her earnestly for a moment and then at Santiago.

“Go!” again said Guadalupe, and she reached out and took Santiago’s hand. “No one is going to harm me.”

The dog gave a low whine, as though he perfectly understood, and bounded away through the underbrush. As he disappeared, Santiago fired his revolver into the air and advanced toward the approaching footsteps. A moment later a dozen of the smugglers appeared.

“What’s the meaning of this shooting?” asked the leader.

“Go to the top of yonder mound and see for yourself,” was Santiago’s reply.

Several of the men hastened to follow the instructions. They scrambled up the mound, where they recoiled in fright at the sight of their comrades.

“How did it happen?” asked the leader, as he returned to where Santiago and Guadalupe were standing.

“Ask the girl,” replied Santiago. “All I know is that I came up from the room below to bring an order to Louis and Leocadio, who are on guard at this place. I found them both as you see them. The girl and her dog were running away as fast as they could. I fired a shot at the dog, but missed him. I captured the girl, and am going to hold her for a ransom.”

The leader looked at him incredulously. Then to Guadalupe he said:

“How could a dog kill two men?”

Guadalupe looked at Santiago, but made no reply.

“Tell him,” said Santiago. “Tell Fillipe how it happened.”

“I don’t know,” declared Guadalupe. “One man seized me and Tanto sprang upon him. A few minutes later the other came.”

“Who is the girl?” asked Fillipe.

“She belongs at the Hacienda del Rio,” replied Santiago.

“Asi!” exclaimed Fillipe. “This is good news. Don Rafael will be glad to get her. Come along!”

He seized Guadalupe by the arm and started to lead her away, but Santiago interfered.

“Hands off!” he said. “She belongs to me. I’ll take her to Don Rafael, and, if there is any ransom, I shall have it.”

Although Santiago’s words were spoken in a low, soft tone, Fillipe obeyed, and the entire party left the place and proceeded by a circuitous route to the rear of the little chain of foothills which bordered the river. After a walk of some five or ten minutes they approached a clump of bushes in front of which a Mexican was standing guard. He stepped aside, and the men entered the bushes, which Guadalupe soon discovered concealed a door in the hillside. At a knock from Fillipe the door was opened,

disclosing a passageway through which the men and their captive proceeded, closing the door behind them.

They had no sooner disappeared than two figures emerged stealthily from behind a jutting rock and threw themselves upon the guard, whom they quickly overcame and bound.

The two figures were Donald and Adrian.

[CHAPTER XI.—A COUNCIL OF WAR.]

Having secured the guard and bound him firmly to a tree, the boys approached the door through which Guadalupe had just been led captive.

“I never suspected it,” said Adrian.

“Nor I,” said Donald, “I thought sure it would be Billie. Where do you suppose they caught her?”

“I can’t imagine. You don’t suppose they have attacked the house, do you?”

“Hardly.”

“Where do you suppose this door leads to?”

“There must be some sort of a cave back in these hills,” and Donald left the door and began exploring the immediate neighborhood.

“By George!” he finally exclaimed, “I believe I’ve got it. You see these hills form a little ridge leading to the creek. Somewhere in here there is a cave which opens onto the creek, and these cutthroats have made some kind of an underground passage to the cave.”

Donald’s guess was a good one. The only thing

wrong about it was the fact that the underground passage was not made by the men at present using it, but by others many years before—how long, no one knows.

“I believe you are right,” said Adrian, “and, if you are, what is the matter with following this ridge until we find the other entrance?”

“That’s just what I was going to suggest,” was Donald’s reply. “Come on!”

Suiting the action to the word, he ascended the hill, followed by Adrian.

Arrived at the top, the boys could see that they were some little distance from the creek and that the ridge upon which they stood was not continuous but broken and irregular. There were also two paths.

“Which of these paths had we better follow, Don?” asked Adrian.

Donald bent down and examined both carefully.

“I believe,” he finally said, “that this one on the left has been the most used. Suppose we take this?”

They did so, and after a few minutes approached the place where the bodies of the two smugglers were lying.

“What’s this?” exclaimed Donald, starting back as the two figures caught his eye.

Adrian made no reply, but stood staring in surprise at the unexpected sight. It was not a pleasant

spectacle, and both the boys involuntarily turned away from the place.

Donald was the first to regain his composure. “Come,” he said, “this is no time for squeamishness. Something serious has occurred, and we have been in too many serious scrapes to falter now! Let’s see what has happened.”

They approached closer and examined the bodies.

“They have been killed by some wild beast,” declared Adrian. “They look just like sheep that have been killed by wolves.”

“Yes,” replied Donald, “or by dogs.”

“Why do you say dogs, Don?”

“I just have an idea; that’s all.”

Adrian wrinkled his brow. Then a smile of intelligence passed over his face.

“I see,” he exclaimed. “I have the same idea—Tanto!”

“Exactly,” replied Don. “But they have captured Guadalupe in spite of the dog.”

“By George, Don, you’ve hit it exactly! But where is the dog now? He must have escaped, or we should see his body here.”

“True,” replied Don. “But why should he run away? You’d think a dog which could do such a thing would stick to his mistress no matter what happened.”

“Sure you would. There’s a mystery here we must unravel. Where do you suppose Tanto is?”

As though in response to the question, there was a sharp bark from the thicket, and the next moment Tanto sprang up onto the mound and attacked one of the lifeless bodies.

Both the boys turned at the unexpected arrival, only to confront Don Antonio and an officer of the rurales, who clambered up beside the boys.

“What is the meaning of all this?” demanded the officer, gazing first at the boys and then at the dog and his victims.

“You know as much about it as we,” replied Adrian; “but anyone can guess what has happened,” and he proceeded to tell the officer about seeing Guadalupe taken into captivity by the smugglers and the finding of the bodies, while Don Antonio called Tanto away and ordered the peons who had followed him to cover the bodies with branches until they could be properly cared for.

“Well,” exclaimed the captain, for so the officer proved to be, “we have evidently run to earth a desperate band; but I am not sure whether they are simply smugglers or revolutionists.”

“The presence of Don Rafael leads me to believe they are the latter,” said Don Antonio.

“We shall very soon find out,” declared the captain. “My men will be here shortly, and we will force the door to the cave and run them out and capture them.”

“How?” queried Donald.

“Very simply! I will station a part of my men in front of the cave. Then I will force the rear door! If they try to escape by boat, they will be either captured or shot. If they turn and show fight, we will be in sufficient force to overpower them.”

“And, while you are doing this, what do you think will happen to our friend and to Don Antonio’s niece?”

“Yes,” echoed Don Antonio, “we must remember Guadalupe! We can do nothing until she is rescued!”

The captain removed his sombrero and scratched his head.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he finally said.

“That is where Don Rafael is the smartest,” said Adrian. “That is why he was trying to capture Pedro.”

“What would you suggest?” asked Don Antonio, who had come to have a wholesome respect for the opinions of the American boys.

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” replied Adrian. “Have you thought of anything, Don?”

“Yes; I have thought of a number of things, but none that seems to meet the requirements.”

“How would it do to try and get into communication with Don Rafael?” suggested Adrian.

“Not a bad idea at all,” replied Donald; “but—hello! what’s the dog found?” he suddenly asked, as

Tanto, with nose to the ground, began to wag his tail and utter a joyous whine.

The exclamation at once called the attention of the four to the little grated window, through which Guadalupe was looking when seized by the bandits, and Donald threw himself down beside the dog and peered into the space below.

“What do you see?” asked Adrian.

“Three figures,” whispered Donald, “but I can’t make out who they are. I wish we could pull out these iron bars!”

He seized the grating and pulled with all his might, but the bars refused to yield.

“If we only had a crowbar!” he exclaimed.

“Beat them down,” came a voice from below.

Donald started back in surprise for just a moment, then put his face close to the bars and whispered back:

“What did you say?”

“Beat the bars down! They are only held in their place by a frame which must be rotten.”

Donald repeated the instructions to the others.

“We haven’t anything to beat them in with,” replied Adrian. “Who is it talking—Billie?”

“I don’t know who it is,” replied Donald. “Sounds like a woman’s voice. Can’t somebody find a big stone?”

“Plenty,” said Don Antonio. “Here, hombres,”

to the peons, “bring one of those big stones yonder.”

The men hastened to obey, and, with the stone for a sledge hammer, Donald quickly knocked out the iron bars, which fell noisily to the floor below.

The opening thus made enabled him to get his head in sufficiently to have seen the interior of the room, had it not been that he shut off his own light; but it was not necessary for him to see what was going on, for this time Billie was out of bed and talking to him.

“Is that you, Ad?” he asked.

“No, it’s Don. How are you, Billie? All right?”

“All except a little weakness in my legs and a bit of dizziness in my head.”

“Who is with you?”

“Guadalupe and Santiago.”

“Santiago who?”

“I don’t know his other name, but he’s all right. He’s looking out for us.”

“Are you a prisoner?”

“Sure. What do you suppose I’m doing here—taking a vacation?”

Donald could not help laughing at Billie’s characteristic reply, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, as he turned from the window to repeat his conversation to his companions.

“What had we better do?” he finally asked.

“Is your friend armed?” asked the captain.

Donald put the question to Billie and received a negative reply.

“Suppose you hand him your rifle and then find out just how things are in the room below.”

“Here, Billie,” called Don, “you take my Marlin and defend yourself to the last. How are things fixed down there?”

“Santiago can tell you better than I,” was the response. Whereupon Santiago explained to Donald the exact condition in the cave.

It appears that when the men who had captured Guadalupe took her before Don Rafael, he was filled with joy, and ordered that she should be kept with the greatest care.

“She will prove another and most valuable hostage,” he declared, and at once ordered her locked up in the same cell with Billie, which was the only place of its kind in the cave. When Santiago objected, he ordered him locked up also.

“And here we are,” explained Santiago. “There is but one door into the cell, and that very narrow, so now that we have two weapons, for I still have my revolver, we can prevent anyone from coming in. The only way they could get us out is to starve us out, which, of course, is impossible now that you are here.”

The information was received with great thankfulness by the rescuing party. In his attempt to make the escape of his prisoners impossible Don

Rafael had put them in the one spot where, under the changed conditions, they were comparatively, if not perfectly, safe.

Very briefly Don whispered the proposed plan of attack to those within the cave, closing with an injunction to Billie to be on the alert and to make every shot count if the smugglers should attempt to force the entrance.

“And here’s something to keep up your courage,” he added, throwing into the cell the luncheon which had been given him when he left the Hacienda del Rio that morning. “You see, I remembered your failing.”

While this conversation had been going on, the rurales to the number of half a hundred, guided by Pedro, had arrived, and arrangements were at once perfected for an attack upon the smugglers’ stronghold.

[CHAPTER XII.—THE BATTLE AT THE CAVE.]

Mustering his band, the captain of the rurales quickly formed his plan of attack. Ten of the company were to seize the two boats at the mouth of the creek and take their positions at the side of the big rock, whose slippery top had proved so disastrous to Billie. Ten others were to secrete themselves on the bank of the stream opposite the water entrance to the cave. The balance of the band were to force the door whose outer guard had been overpowered and bound by Donald and Adrian.

Having thus disposed his forces, the captain started with his division of thirty toward the door, with the understanding that he would not attempt to force an entrance until a shot from the river should advise him that the water forces were in position.

“What will you have us do?” asked Donald.

“Keep out of the way, so that you will not be shot,” laughed the captain. “That’s the proper thing for boys.”

“We’re not that kind of boys,” declared Adrian.

“Oh, well then,” answered the captain, “you just skirmish around on the outside to pick up any who might succeed in getting away! I don’t think you’ll have a great deal to do, for my men intend to bag the entire band.”

The plan suited the boys first rate and they proceeded immediately to take advantage of the instructions.

“I’ll have to station myself somewhere in short range,” declared Donald. “Having loaned Billie my Marlin, I have nothing but my six-shooter.”

“I reckon that’ll be sufficient. It looks to me as though the whole thing would be at short range and of short duration. I hope so. We’re not down here looking for trouble.”

“That’s surely the truth,” laughed Donald, “but somehow or other, we seem to have a faculty of getting mixed up in all sorts of things.”

“That’s because you are always trying to help some one out of trouble,” declared Pedro. “If it had not been for me, you would never have been mixed up in this at all.”

“It does look that way, doesn’t it?” laughed Adrian. “But appearances are sometimes deceitful, eh Don?” and he gave Donald a knowing look.

“They sure are; but let’s be hunting a place where we may be of service.”

“I’ll tell you what,” exclaimed Adrian after they

had stood undecided for several minutes, trying to decide upon a position of vantage, “let’s station ourselves on that little knoll just above the door. Then if any should get by those guarding the river entrance I could pick them up with my rifle; while if any should be able to dash past the captain’s party, you can stop them with your Colt.”

“How about me?” asked Pedro.

“You can either stay with us, or follow Don Antonio.”

“I think I’ll stay with you. As you say, you seem to have a faculty for getting mixed up in things and this is one of the things I want a hand in.”

The boys had hardly reached the place they had selected, when a shot from the river front told that the flanking party had taken its position and a minute later the boys could hear the blows that were being rained upon the door to force it from its place.

“It isn’t quite as easy a job as the captain thought,” said Donald after the battering had continued for several minutes.

“I should say not!” declared Adrian. “He never will get in that way. Why doesn’t he blow it open?”

“Maybe he doesn’t know how!”

“Then we’d better go and show him! He’s wasting time.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the air was rent by a terrific explosion and great pieces of rock and a cloud of dust and dirt were thrown high into the air, almost burying the Broncho Rider Boys and their companion in the débris.

The smugglers had fired a mine which had been arranged for just such an attack.

As soon as the boys could gain their feet and free themselves from the pile of dirt which had been thrown up, they turned their attention to the rurales to see what might have been the damage done. Fortunately it was slight. Two men had been killed and three wounded, but not seriously. The worst feature of the explosion was that the rear entrance to the cave had been so blocked with the falling rock, that an entrance was impossible without much digging and clearing away of the rubbish.

However, if the rurales could not get in, neither could the smugglers get out, except by the river entrance. That they had no desire to do so was soon evident, for before the main force, accompanied by the boys, could reach the river front, the smugglers—or as many as could be loaded into three skiffs—emerged from the cave on the river side.

That they had not expected to meet any resistance in that quarter was evident from the fact that they were not at all prepared to fight, nor did they

take any precaution to defend themselves until greeted by a volley from the rurales stationed on the opposite side of the creek.

But no sooner had they received the first volley, than they turned sharply up stream and a minute later replied with a well directed fire.

Immediately thereafter the ten men who had been posted behind the big rock clambered up to the top and from this position of vantage poured a volley into the boats. Almost at the same moment the captain led the main force around from the other side, thus taking the boats between two fires.

Seeing their hopeless position and realizing that they were greatly outnumbered, the smugglers threw down their arms and surrendered. The boats were quickly drawn ashore and the captured smugglers landed and placed under a guard.

“There must be at least as many more,” said Donald to the captain, when he had counted the prisoners and found there were only twenty-four. “During our scouting we have seen fully forty.”

“Is that true?” the captain asked one of the prisoners.

“Quien sabe” was the unsatisfactory reply.

“You don’t know, eh?” said the captain.

“No, señor capitan.”

“Perhaps I can help you,” said the captain. Then turning to one of his men: “Here, corporal,

stand this man up against that rock, and if he doesn’t answer by the time I count ten, shoot him.”

Without a word the corporal obeyed and told off six men as a firing squad. The smuggler’s hands were tied behind him and he was placed with his back to the rock, while the rurales with carbines leveled stood ready to fire.

“Look, you,” said the captain as he took his position a little to one side. “At the word ten the men will fire and I shall not count very slowly either. Ready. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight——”

“There are forty-five besides the captain and Santiago,” broke forth the smuggler.

“Nine, ten, fire,” finished the captain, and at the word the carbines cracked and the smuggler pitched forward and lay motionless!

An exclamation of horror burst from both the American boys.

“Captain!” cried Donald. “It’s murder.”

“How could you after he had spoken!” exclaimed Adrian.

The captain shrugged his shoulders and lighted a cigarette.

“It had to be done sooner or later. It might as well be now as later.”

“But you broke your word!”

“Not at all. I told him if he did not speak I would shoot. I did not tell him I would not shoot

if he did. You Americans are too tender-hearted.”

“I shall report the case to your superior officer,” declared Donald.

Again the captain shrugged his shoulders.

“I shall report it myself,” he said. “The man simply tried to escape and we shot him. It is the ley de fuga.”[2]

“Can such things be?” queried Adrian.

“You can see that they are,” answered Don Antonio, who had come up in time to hear the conversation. “In dealing with men of this class, when revolution is plotted on every hand, things are done in Mexico which would not be done could a stable government be established.”

“Before we are through with this band, you may wish that more of them could be thus disposed of,” declared the captain. “Remember that you have a companion in there who has not yet been rescued.”

The boys started as though they had been stung. In the excitement of the tragedy they had just witnessed Billie had passed entirely from their thoughts.

“We’re a nice pair of chums, ain’t we?” exclaimed Adrian. “No knowing what is going on inside that cave. Let’s get busy.”

Without waiting to see what the others might be

going to do, Adrian started on a run for the window in the cave.

“If I can’t do anything more,” he thought, “I can at least tell Billie to keep up his courage! I wish I was in there with him.”

As he climbed up the mound, he noted that a little volume of smoke was coming out of the window, which now served as a chimney for the cell in which Billie was confined.

“Powder smoke!” he exclaimed as he drew near enough to get a whiff. “It must be from the explosion.”

He bent over the hole and tried to look into the cell, but could see nothing.

“Billie!” he called; but there was no response.

Again he called, this time more loudly, but still there was no answer, and Adrian’s heart fairly stood still with apprehension.

“I wonder what can be the matter?” he gasped. “By George, I wish I was in there!”

He had hardly uttered the words, when the place on which he was standing seemed to give way beneath his feet and he felt himself slowly falling.

It was not a long nor a hard fall, and, as he felt himself once more on a solid foundation, and looked up toward the sky, he saw he had not fallen more than twenty or twenty-five feet. What had really happened was that the roof of the cell, cracked by the explosion, had caved in with Adrian’s weight,

and he was in the very place he was wishing he was, although the condition of the cell had materially changed since Donald had looked down into it less than twenty minutes before.

Before the explosion, the cell had been a room some thirty feet square and twenty or more feet high. Now it was half filled with dirt and pieces of rock, the door which had guarded its entrance had been crushed, and through the opening Adrian caught a glimpse of the front entrance to the cave and the water beyond.

But there was no sign of Billie or the smugglers.

Pulling himself together and grasping his Marlin firmly, so as to be ready for any emergency, Adrian stepped cautiously toward the broken door. Hiding himself as well as he could behind the shattered casemate, he peered out into the cave.

The room was empty and at first there appeared no way in which the smugglers could have left except by the river, seeing which Adrian breathed easier.

“They must have gone out like the others,” he thought, “and have been captured by the rurales.”

Having arrived at this decision, he walked boldly out toward the river entrance.

But he had not advanced ten paces into the main cave before a noose fell silently over his shoulders, and he felt himself jerked violently backward.

The very act, however, caused him to tighten his

grip upon his rifle, and the weapon was discharged, the report vibrating with an echo that made it seem almost a cannonade. At the same time his head came into contact with the hard floor with such force that it completely stunned him.

In the moment of consciousness between the report of the rifle and the time his head struck the floor, he saw a figure leap forward out of the darkness, and as he lost consciousness the sound of his own rifle seemed to be taken up and echoed back by an innumerable number.

And that was just exactly what happened.

The figure that had leaped forward was Donald, and the volley came from the carbines of a score of rurales, who had followed him into the cave, and fired pointblank at the smugglers over Adrian’s prostrate form. The lariat in the hands of one of the smugglers had pulled Adrian to the earth, just in time to save him from the fire of the rurales.

For the next few minutes the battle in the cave raged with the utmost fierceness. The smugglers had taken their stand in an alcove, hewn into one side of the cave, a little above the floor level. A projecting shelf afforded them a slight shelter, and from this partially fortified position, they made a desperate fight. In fact, they were doing great damage among the rurales, and it had begun to look as though they might succeed in driving them to shelter, when a rattle of shots from their rear completely

disconcerted them, and they threw down their guns and called out that they surrendered.

The next instant there emerged, seemingly out of the solid rock, three figures with blackened faces and tattered garments, who advanced toward the rurales. They were Billie, Santiago and Guadalupe.

“Don’t shoot!” cried Billie, as the rurales, thinking them some new foe, raised their carbines. “We are friends!”

“Billie!” shouted Donald, dropping his revolver and grasping his stout comrade in both arms. “What has happened to you?”

“We were in the explosion.”

“You look like you had been in a coal mine. Are you hurt?”

“Not a scratch—none of us!”

“Then look after Ad, while I help dispose of these cutthroats.”

“Ad!” exclaimed Billie. “Is he hurt?”

“I don’t know. There he is. Find out and do something for him as soon as possible.”

Billie hastened to do Donald’s bidding, but Santiago was before him. He raised the boy’s head onto his knee, and from a small flask forced a few drops of liquid down his throat. A moment later Adrian opened his eyes, gave one look at the two blackened faces before him, and uttered a yell that brought everyone to “attention” as though a bomb had exploded.

“What is it?” asked Donald, jumping to Adrian’s side.

“That’s what I want to know! What is it?” pointing his finger at Billie.

Donald burst into a loud laugh. He had been under the most intense excitement for hours, and, as the ludicrousness of the situation struck him, he could not have kept from laughing had a howitzer been pointed at his head. His overwrought feelings simply relaxed, and he fairly screamed with laughter.

Realizing the humor of the situation, Billie speedily joined in, and the combined laughter of the two was so infectious that, without at all understanding what it was about, the rurales and smugglers also began to laugh. It is probable that no battle ever fought had such a remarkable ending.

For Adrian, it was the best thing that could have happened, for it brought him to himself, and he discovered at once who the three black-faced individuals were; but it was a bad thing for the rurales. While they were indulging in their most enjoyable recreation, Don Rafael quietly withdrew into the darkness and disappeared into the opening through which Billie and Santiago had made their entrance.

[CHAPTER XIII.—A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.]

It was a couple of hours later and the Broncho Rider Boys had just seen the rurales ride away toward Presidio del Norte with their prisoners. The two hours had been spent in a vain endeavor to find Don Rafael, whose sudden disappearance and escape had taken away much of the success of the expedition. The boys had just made another examination of the cave, and were now grouped together on the water’s edge, undecided what should be their next step.

“It is certainly the most mysterious affair I ever had anything to do with,” declared Donald, “and we have solved some pretty big mysteries.”

“Right you are,” said Adrian. “I thought the mystery of the Zuni medicine man was the biggest mystery we should ever have to unravel, but this beats it.”

“What was that?” asked Pedro, who was one of the company.

“It’s most too long a story to tell now,” replied

Adrian, “but it was told in print a few months ago by a friend of ours, Mr. Frank Fowler, who wrote it into a book under the title of 'The Broncho Rider Boys Along the Border.’ I’ll send you a copy when we get back to the States. It was a mystery, all right, but we ferreted it out, hey, Don?”

“We sure did, and we must ferret this one out, too.”

“The most mysterious part to me,” said Billie, who up to this time had stood apart thinking, “is not the disappearance of Don Rafael, but the disappearance of Santiago. There is something unusual about him that I must know.”

“The captain didn’t seem to care much about his disappearance,” said Adrian.

“I know he didn’t, but he simply took him for another of the smugglers, while he believes that Don Rafael is the head of a new revolutionary movement. I am sure that this is not so.”

“What?” asked Don. “Don’t you think Don Rafael is stirring up a revolution?”

“I meant I didn’t think as the captain does about Santiago,” explained Billie.

“Oh! Well, what do you think about him?”

“I hardly know; but I don’t believe he is a peon. I believe he is an educated man and is here in disguise for some purpose.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Pedro. “He seemed like a peon to me.”

“That’s because you did not get well acquainted with him. I did; for, when you are in as tight a place as we were right after the explosion, it doesn’t take long to get acquainted.”

“What did he do?” queried Adrian.

“That would be hard to tell. It would be easier to tell what he did not do; but the thing that first attracted me was the way in which he cared for Guadalupe.”

“Speaking of Guadalupe,” exclaimed Adrian, “I’d forgotten all about her! What became of her?”

“Don Antonio took her home long ago,” replied Donald. Then to Billie: “Then what did Santiago do?”

“He just took charge of the both of us as though he owned us. He didn’t even appear nervous. You would have thought that he was in the habit of being blown up. A peon wouldn’t have done that! He would have thought only of himself.”

“That’s so,” declared Pedro; “I’ve seen them do it.”

“Well, Santiago didn’t. As soon as he had gained his feet after the explosion knocked him down, he picked Guadalupe up in his arms, and, calling out to me to follow him, he dashed out into the cave. The place was full of men, but they were for the most part busy getting into the boats. They evidently thought that the only attack they had to

fear was from the rear and were all hurrying to get out.

“Without stopping to speak to anyone, he turned toward the rear of the cave, stood still for a moment, as though looking for something on the wall, and then gave a sudden push with his hand. As though by magic the opening appeared through which you saw the three of us come and by which Don Rafael escaped.”

“Then why can’t we find the place?” interrupted Adrian.

Billie shook his head slowly.

“That’s part of the mystery,” he finally said.

“Yes, and a big part,” declared Donald. “If we could locate that door, we could find Don Rafael. Don’t you think so, Billie?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Then let’s find it!”

“I’ll show it to you,” said a soft voice, which came to them out of the semi-darkness.

At the sound of the voice the boys turned hastily and grasped their weapons.

“Don’t be afraid,” continued the voice. “No one is going to hurt you,” and out of the darkness stepped Santiago.

“I just said you were the greatest mystery,” exclaimed Billie, as soon as he saw who the newcomer was, “and now I know it.”

“Not a mystery,” declared Santiago, “but a patriot.”

“Which is even a greater curiosity in Mexico,” declared Donald.

“I am afraid you are right,” was the sad reply; “but there are still a few, and some day we will free Mexico from the rule of those who seek nothing but their own advancement.”

“To which class does Don Rafael belong?” asked Adrian.

Santiago’s usually mild face grew stern.

“To the wrong one, I fear. That is what I am trying to find out. I have been told he was a patriot. What I have seen today leads me to believe the opposite.”

Pedro had listened eagerly to what Santiago had been saying, but without speaking a word. Now he could contain himself no longer.

“He is a dog!” he exclaimed, “a would-be murderer and a thief. He knows not honor! He bites the hand that fed him, and he would now help to assassinate our good president, Francisco Madero!”

Santiago’s eyes flashed. “Have a care,” he said. “How do you know all this?”

“My father is a trusted friend of President Madero. He knows that the president has at heart the good of all the people, not the rich alone. Don Rafael, as you call him, was a trusted servant of

my father. He betrayed his trust, and has become the vilest of the vile. I can give you the proof!”

For several minutes Santiago remained silent, thinking deeply. When he spoke it was with determination.

“You say you can give me proof,” he said. “You shall have the opportunity. Come!”

He quickly led the way to the place in the wall of the cave where the boys felt sure the secret door was hidden. With one foot he gave a sliding push to a triangular stone in the floor, and a moment later the secret opening was disclosed.

“No wonder,” exclaimed Billie, “that we couldn’t locate the door. We never thought that the key might be hidden in the floor. We only searched in the wall! What simpletons!”

Santiago smiled whimsically, but made no reply, as he led the way through the door.

“We will not need to close it now,” he explained, “as there is no one here whom we need fear.”

He took from a niche in the rock a small lantern, which he was about to light, when Donald drew from his pocket his electric searchlight.

“Take this,” he said, handing it to Santiago. “It is much better.”

Santiago took it in his hand and regarded it curiously.

“It is a strange instrument,” he said. “Is it safe to use it?”

“Why not?” queried Donald in mild surprise.

“It looks like magic. It might bring ill luck.”

“Oh, no,” laughed Don. “Everyone uses them where we came from.”

Santiago hesitated for a moment, and then said slowly: “It may be right for those who understand. For those who do not it is ill luck. Take it back. I dare not use it.”

Slowly Donald returned the searchlight to his pocket, while Santiago fumbled with the lantern which he was trying to light.

As the blue flame of the match cast a flickering light about the place, suddenly from out the darkness there sprang a figure with uplifted hand, and hurled itself upon Santiago. There was a muttered oath, a blow, and the figure darted through the still open door, and disappeared in the outer cave, while Santiago sank down upon the floor, murmuring to himself:

“The magic light! The magic light! The ill luck has come!”

“It’s Don Rafael! It’s Don Rafael!” shouted Pedro. “Don’t let him escape!”

He sprang after the fleeing figure, closely followed by Billie and Adrian, while Donald bent over the prostrate Santiago, examining his wound by the light of his electric.

A moment later there was a shot from without, but, while Donald still bent over Santiago, trying

to stop the flow of blood from a wound in his shoulder, the others came back.

“Did you get him?” he asked.

“I didn’t even wing him,” was Billie’s crestfallen reply. “He must bear a charmed life. But I’ll get him yet, if I have to stay in Mexico all summer!”

Santiago raised his eyes, and a fierce smile played upon his lips, as he fixed his gaze upon Billie.

“Do you mean it, señor?” he asked.

“You bet I do!”

“Promise me!”

“Sure, if that will do you any good!” replied Billie lightly.

“Look out!” exclaimed Adrian. “That may mean more than you think!”

“I don’t care what it means,” declared Billie; “I’ve given my word, and I’ll stick to it!”

Santiago reached out and took him feebly by the hand. “You will never regret it,” he said. “When you have made your promise good, come back to me for your reward.”

And then the strange man swooned in Donald’s arms.

[CHAPTER XIV.—PANCHO VILLA.]

Several days have elapsed, days filled with anxiety over the fate of Santiago, and once more the boys find themselves in the saddle, headed for the Rio Grande.

“It sure does seem good to feel your pony between your knees,” exclaimed Donald, after they had galloped along a couple of miles at a lively rate, the horses themselves setting the pace after their days of rest.

“That it does,” replied Billie, “especially when your mind is at ease. I shouldn’t be enjoying myself at all, were I not sure that Santiago was on the road to recovery. That certainly was a nasty cut. I hope this trail will lead us to where we want to go.”

“I can see no reason why it should not,” declared Adrian. “It is as plain as the nose on your face.”

“And that’s pretty plain in your case,” laughed Donald, for it was a well-known fact that Adrian’s nose was his most prominent feature.

“I wish I could see it that way,” insisted Billie. “It looks to me as though this were a good deal of a wild goose chase.”

“I don’t see how you figure it,” retorted Adrian, and he put his hand into his inside pocket and took therefrom a piece of paper. “Here is the address as plain as can be: 'Rafael Solis, Presidio del Norte, care Señor Pancho Villa.’ What more do you want?”

“I want to know who Pancho Villa is, and where he lives! There is nothing sure we can locate such a man.”

“Santiago says he is well known.”