an unintelligible murmur, and the rhythmic swaying
recommenced. The legend of the Lost Souls' Pool was no new one to
Billie; she had heard it often from the lips of the old crone, who
could never be persuaded to divulge its supposed location and the myth
had become an old settlers' joke around Limasito.

She stole away presently, leaving Tia Juana to her incantations, and
returned to the shack, but Jose had fallen into uneasy slumber, and
after moistening the bandage about his head, she started for home.

The old woman's account of her nocturnal adventure would not be
exorcised from Billie's thoughts. The Senor Wiley was a young Eastern
capitalist, who held vast oil and fruit-growing properties in the
surrounding countryside. It was incredible that he could hold any
communication with the rebel bandit and murderer, Alvarez, the "Little
Negro," whose name was enough to strike terror to native hearts.

El Negrito had pillaged and burned, raped and killed unhindered until
he was glutted with blood and loot, but that was in the old days, only
a few years ago before the newest government was in power and the white
men came in force. Of late he had retired to the hills, the memory of
his atrocities had faded and only when news came of a burning village
far away, or the murder of a lone prospector was the sporadic attempt
to capture him renewed, and then in a half-hearted manner.

It was rumored that the nomadic, down-at-heel half-breed, John Sawyer,
was an agent of the killer, but no proof could be brought to bear upon
him and he was allowed to go his cringing way unmolested. Billie
wondered now, with a cold, unaccustomed sense of dread, if rumor spoke
truly. What if Sawyer were indeed the forerunner of a visitation from
the bandit of the hills?

The girl had turned mechanically into a side road, shadier than the
highway and leading by a short cut to the plaza and the heart of the
town. She was still in the open country, with orchards stretching out
interminably on either side and not even a peon within hailing
distance, when the chug and snort of a motor reached her reluctant
ears. Billie knew that irregular rattling hum, and insensibly
quickened her pace.

Then as the car drew close behind her she slowed, a peculiar light
glinting in her eyes.

"Buenas tardes, Senorita Billie!" A merry, mocking voice called, and
she wheeled about.

A sallow, sandy-haired young man, with pale protruding blue eyes and
thin