bt
he's deserved death many times over. We got some valuable information
out of him, though, even if it was at the point of a bowie, and I think
we ought to untie him and let him go."

As there was no dissent from this, they went to the tree where they had
left the sentry. They found him nearly dead from terror. He had heard
the sounds of the fight and the cheers of the soldiers, and knew pretty
well how the struggle had ended. Now, as the boys approached, he tried
to read their purpose in their eyes. He knew how he would have acted,
had the case been reversed, and he did not dare to hope for mercy. But,
to his astonishment, they took the gag from his mouth, untied his hands
and told him he was free. He shook himself and then staggered away in
the underbrush, trying to get out of sight before his deliverers should
change their minds. They watched him till he vanished, and then retraced
their steps to where Melton was waiting.

"You did right, boys," he said. "Although," he added, "a good many might
think it was a case of misplaced sympathy. While I was waiting, I was
reminded of the story of the little girl, looking at a picture of the
early Christians attacked by lions in the arena. Her mother saw that she
was crying, and was pleased to see that she was so tender-hearted. 'It is
sad, isn't it?' she asked. 'Yes,' sobbed the child, 'look at this poor
thin little lion, that hasn't any Christian.'"

The boys laughed, as they sprang into the saddle.

"Of course," concluded Melton, "it's rough on any lion to compare him to
a fellow like this. Perhaps we'd better say a hyena, and let it go at
that."

With hearts light as air, they cantered down the trail. Once more, life
was smiling. They passed in quick succession the various land marks they
had such good reason to remember. Here was the place where they had
passed the night, and where Melton had come upon them, bringing cheer and
hope. There was the stream, in which the outlaws had walked their
horses. Most memorable of all was the curve in the road, where Dick had
come upon the guerillas. Nothing in nature had changed since yesterday.
But what a gulf lay between their tortured sensations of the day before
and the joyous elation of the present!

It was long after dark, when they rode into Montillo--too late to see
the consul and the mayor that night. They bade a cordial good night to
the captain, and, with a gay wave of the hand to the troopers, w