at his hip, giving the perfectly correct
impression that the man who wore that name must ever stand ready to
defend himself: "I am Fernando Escobar, at your service for what you
please, senor!"

Never a muscle of either Kendric's face or Barlow's twitched at the
information though inwardly each man started. Before now, many times
in the flood of their tumultous lives, they had lived through moments
when the thing to do was control all outward expression of emotion and
think fast.

"I'd say, Twisty," said Kendric lightly, "that it is downright kind of
Senor Escobar to extend so hearty an invitation. It would be the
pleasant thing to rest up in the shade during the afternoon. Tomorrow,
perhaps, it could be arranged that he would let us have a couple of
horses to make our little trip into the hills butterfly-catching?"

But Barlow, fingering his forelock, looked anything but pleased. His
eyes went swiftly to the three peaks across the valley, then frowning
up the valley to the ranch houses. Obviously, he meant to go straight
about his business, all the more eager to come to grips with the naked
situation since Escobar was on the ground and had made himself known.
He opened his lips to speak. On the instant Kendric saw a swift,
subtle change in his eyes, a look of surprise and of uncertainty. And
then, abruptly, Barlow said:

"Oh, all right. I'm tired hoofin' it, anyway," and swung up into the
saddle on the nearest horse, pack and all.

Escobar wheeled his horse, as though glad to have his errand done, and
rode back toward the upper end of the valley, his ragged following
close at his heels, Kendric and Barlow bringing up the rear.

"What was it, Twisty?" demanded Kendric softly. "What did you see?
What made you change your mind all of a sudden."

"Look at the cordillera just back of the ranch house, Jim," answered
Barlow, guardedly.

Kendric looked and in a moment understood Barlow's perplexity. There
again were three upstanding peaks, much in general outline and height
like those across the valley. For the life of him Barlow did not know
which was the group toward which he had been directed by Juarez to
steer his course. Doubtless Escobar did know. And if Escobar were
going up valley, it would be just as well to go with him.

As they drew near the big adobe house both men were interested. The
building had once upon a time, perhaps two or three hundreds of years
ago, been a Spanish mission; so muc