"Well?" snapped the sailor. "What of it? If you can get away with a
game like that it pays big and fast. And who the devil sent you and me
down this way to preach righteousness? It's their business--but,
cut-throat cur that that little bandit hop o' my thumb is, I don't
believe a word he says."

"And if you did believe, it would be just the same?" There was a queer
note in his voice. "Well, Twisty, old mate, I guess you've said it.
Our trail forks. Good night."

"Good night," growled Barlow. Each went into his own bedroom; the
doors closed after them.

For a couple of hours Kendric sat in the dark by his window, staring
out into the gardens, pondering. Of two things he was certain: He was
not going to remain shut up in the Hacienda Montezuma if there was a
way to break for the open; and he was not going to leave Lower
California without his share of the buried treasure or at least without
knowing that the tale was a lie. And, little by little, a third
consideration forced itself in with its place with these matters; he
could not get out of his mind the picture of the "poor little kid of a
girl" in Escobar's hands. Like any other strong man, Kendric had a
quick sympathy and pity for the weak and abused. Never, he thought,
had he seen an individual less equipped to contend with such forces
than was the little American girl.

"What I'd like," he thought longingly, "would be to make a break for
the border; to round up about twenty of the boys and to swoop down on
this place like a gale out of hell! Clean 'em for fair, pick the
little Gordon girl up and race back to the border with her. If it
wasn't so blamed far----"

But he realized, even while he let his angry fancies run, that he was
dreaming impossibilities. He knew, also, that to take up the matter
through the regular diplomatic channels would be a process too
infinitely slow to suit the situation. It was either a single-handed
job for Jim Kendric, or else it was up to the girl's father to pay down
the twenty-five thousand dollars.

"I'd give a good deal for a talk with old Bruce West," he told himself.
"His outfit lies close in to these diggings; wonder if he has any
American boys working for him? Why, a dozen of us, or a half dozen,
would stand this place on end! Yes; I'd like to see Bruce."

A score of reasons flocked to him why it was desirable to see young
West. The boy was a friend, and it would be a joy just to grip him by
the han