assault, but as they saw how few they were and realized the absence of
hostile intentions, their carbines were lowered and the captain in
command swung himself to the ground.

He was a young, well set up, soldierly looking man, and it took only a
moment for him to grasp the situation, as it was rapidly sketched out by
Melton. He had been educated in the Mexican military school and spoke
English fluently.

"How large a force have you?" he asked.

"Here they are," replied Melton, with a wave of his hand.

"What!" the officer gasped in amazement. "You don't mean to say that
with only four men, you attacked El Tigre and his band. It was suicide."

"Well," laughed Melton, "it hasn't come to that yet, but I'm not denying
that things are getting too warm for comfort. The rascals would have had
us surrounded in a little while, and I'm mighty glad you've come."

"You've done wonders," rejoined the captain, "but now you can rest on
your arms, while I clear out this nest of hornets."

"Not a bit of it," replied Melton. "We're going to be in at the death."

"You stubborn Americanos," laughed the captain. "So be it then. You've
certainly earned the right to have your way in this."

His dispositions were quickly taken. At the word of command, his
troopers dismounted and tethered their horses. Then they deployed in a
long line across the woods. A bugle blew the charge, and with a rousing
cheer they rushed up the slope and across the clearing. A volley of
bullets met them and several of them went down, but the rest kept on
without a pause. Their carbines cracked without cessation, and one
outlaw after the other fell, until not more than fifteen were left.
These last were gathered in a corner of the camp, where under the
leadership of El Tigre, who fought with a fury worthy of his name, they
made their last despairing stand.

But their hour had come. The blood of their victims was at last to be
avenged. One final charge, and the troops swept over them. The guerilla
chief, seeing that all was lost, lifted his revolver with the last bullet
left, and put it to his head to blow out his brains. He had always
boasted that he would never be taken alive. But just as his finger was
on the trigger, Dick, who, with his friends, had been in the forefront of
the fight, knocked his hand aside and bore him to the ground. In another
second, he was tightly bound and the fight was over. With four of his
band, the only surviv