ve ready for him in the morning."

He was about to rouse the sleeper with a vicious kick, but thought better
of it.

"No," he growled, "let him sleep. He'll be in better condition in the
morning, and it will make his dying harder and longer." And with a last
venomous look, he left the tent and its sleeping occupant, and went to
his own quarters.

The camp wore a festal air the next morning. There was a general
atmosphere of eager expectation. It was evident that something unusual
was afoot. The fellow that brought in Dick's breakfast looked at him
with a covert interest, as though he were to be an important actor in a
drama for which the stage was being set. Had Dick known as much as
Melton had learned of the hideous fame of his captor, he might have
divined sooner the nature of these preparations. He had slept soundly,
and the freshness and brightness of the morning had given him new hopes.
The food served him was very good and abundant, and he did not know why,
just as he was finishing it, the thought came to him of the especially
good breakfast served to condemned men on the morning of their execution.
He brushed the thought away from him, and just then Pedro appeared at
the door of the ten, accompanied by a half dozen of his mates.

He untied the prisoner's feet, and Dick arose and stretched himself.

"Come," growled Pedro, and they went out into the open space between the
tents.

The fresh air fanned his forehead gratefully and he breathed it in in
great draughts. On a morning like this, it was good just to be alive.

He cast a glance around, and saw at once that something out of the
ordinary was about to take place. The entire population of the camp was
on the scene. Instead of sprawling in haphazard fashion on the ground,
the bandits were in an attitude of alert attention. The dreaded leader
sat in the center of the clearing, his eyes alight with an unholy flame.
He rose, as Dick approached, with a guard holding his arm on either side,
and made him a sweeping bow of mock politeness.

"It is good of the senor to honor us with his presence, this morning," he
said in fairly good English--in his early years he had been a cattle
rustler in Arizona--"but I fear we can offer little for his amusement.
In fact, we shall have to depend on the senor himself to entertain us.
Is the senor, by any chance, a snake charmer?"

"Look here, said Dick, fiercely, what's your game, anyway? You've got my
money and