house into
the desert. The back door had opened. A woman came out, took a few steps
forward, peered about her, and called that all was clear. A man
followed. The two stood talking for a minute in low tones; then the man
kissed her and turned briskly toward the brush. According to the
Ranger's programme the girl should have returned to the house, but
instead she waited in the moonlight to see the last of her lover. When
he waved an arm to her and cried "_Buenos noches, chachita_," she threw
him a kiss across the starlit prairie.

Intent on his good-night, the man missed the ill-defined trail that led
to his horse and zigzagged through the brush at another angle. The
Ranger, light-footed as a cat, moved forward noiselessly to intercept
him, crouching low and taking advantage of all the cover he could find.
Luck was with him. Dinsmore strode within a yard of the kneeling man
without a suspicion of danger.

A powerful forearm slid out from the brush. Sinewy fingers caught the
far ankle of the moving man. One strong pull sent Dinsmore off his
balance. The outlaw clutched wildly at the air and came crashing down.
He fell into a bush of catclaw cactus.

The Ranger was on him like a wildcat. Before his victim could make a
move to defend himself, Jack had the man handcuffed with his arms behind
him.

Dinsmore, his face in the catclaw, gave a smothered cry for help. From
where he was, the Ranger could not see the house, but he heard the
excited voice of the woman, the sound of a commotion, and the beat of
rapid footsteps.

An excited voice called: "_Quien es?_"

The trapped man wanted to explain, but his captor rubbed the face of
the outlaw deeper into the torturing spines of the cactus.

"Don't ask any questions," advised Roberts. "Get back into the house
_pronto_. The Rangers have taken Dinsmore. Unless you're lookin' for
trouble, you'd better _vamos_."

Evidently two or three Mexicans had run out to the rescue. Jack could
hear them discussing the situation in whispers. He had them at a double
disadvantage. They did not know how many Rangers lay in the mesquite;
nor did they want to fall foul of them in any case. The men drew back
slowly, still in excited talk among themselves, and disappeared inside
the house. The woman protested volubly and bitterly till the closing of
the door stifled her voice.

Jack pulled his prisoner to a more comfortable position.

"Sorry you fell into the catclaw, Dinsmore," he said. "If y