where the Mexican
was lounging. "You are waiting to see me?" he asked shortly, ignoring
the foreman's courtly bow and sombrero-sweep.

"I wait to h-ask for the 'ealth of Senor Bromley. It is report' to me
that he is recover from hees sobad h-accident."

"Mr. Bromley is getting along all right. Is that all?"

The Mexican bowed again.

"I bring-a da message from the Senorita to da Senor Wingfiel'. He is
som'where on da camp?"

"No; he has gone back to the upper valley. You have been waiting some
time? You must have seen him go."

For the third time the Mexican removed his hat. "I'll have been here
one, two, t'ree little minute, Senor Ballar'," he lied smoothly. "And
now I make to myself the honour of saying to you, _Adios_."

Ballard let him go because there was nothing else to do. His presence in
the construction camp, and the ready lie about the length of his stay,
were both sufficiently ominous. What if he had overheard the talk in the
office? It was easily possible that he had. The windows were open, and
the adobe was only a few steps withdrawn from the busy cutting yard. The
eavesdropper might have sat unremarked upon the office porch, if he had
cared to.

The Kentuckian was deep in the labyrinth of reflection when he rejoined
Fitzpatrick; and the laying-out of the new side-track afterward was
purely mechanical. When the work was done, Ballard returned to the
bungalow, to find Bromley sleeping the sleep of pure exhaustion on the
blanket-covered couch. Obeying a sudden impulse, the Kentuckian took a
field-glass from its case on the wall, and went out, tip-toeing to avoid
waking Bromley. If Manuel had overheard, it was comparatively easy to
prefigure his next step.

"Which way did the Mexican go?" Ballard asked of a cutter in the
stone-yard.

"The last I saw of him he was loungin' off towards the Elbow. That was
just after you was talkin' to him," said the man, lifting his cap to
scratch his head with one finger.

"Did he come here horseback?"

"Not up here on the mesa. Might 'a' left his nag down below; but he
wa'n't headin' that way when I saw him."

Ballard turned away and climbed the hill in the rear of the bungalow;
the hill from which the table-smashing rock had been hurled. From its
crest there was a comprehensive view of the upper valley, with the river
winding through it, with Castle 'Cadia crowning the island-like knoll in
its centre, with the densely forested background range billowing green