may be on this side, for
all we know. In that case, war may break out at any moment."

"Perhaps I would better start at once," agreed the lieutenant.

"Our boys over the river are prepared for a raid?" asked Nestor.

"Yes, all ready."

"Then you would better get the prisoners over before the trouble
begins."

He turned to Don Miguel with a smile and asked:

"How is it? Were the arms you bought delivered on this side, or did
the United States troops stop them?"

"They were to have been sent across last night," with a grin of triumph.

"And the signal from the peak shortly after midnight?"

"The O.K. signal meant that the men were there ready to receive them."

"Then you anticipate rescue almost immediately?" asked Lieutenant
Gordon.

Don Miguel shrugged his slender shoulders.

"The hills are full of men," he said. "If they are armed--well."

"And you will accompany us? asked Gordon of Nestor.

"I shall remain here and look after my friends," was the reply. "After
all, one may be able to accomplish more than half a dozen. Get the
prisoners over the border before the shooting begins, and I will find
the lost boys."

When the secret service men turned down the slope, Nestor moved toward
the summit.

CHAPTER XVI.

WOLVES ON THE MOUNTAIN.

"And so you are George Fremont, the scoundrel wanted by the police of
New York City for attempted murder and robbery--the rascal for whose
capture there is a reward of $10,000 offered!"

As the renegade repeated the accusation, his eyes flashed malignantly.
Fremont listened silently, apparently unmoved by the vilifying words.

A moment's reflection convinced Jimmie--still observing the group from
the shelter of his rocky hiding place--that the arrival of the
messenger had slightly improved the situation so far as the interests
of his friends were concerned. The critical moment had for the present
passed or been delayed, and the prisoner was no longer threatened with
immediate death. Jimmie, too, had been temporarily relieved of the
responsibility of the act he had decided upon--the shooting of the
renegade if he lifted an arm to signal the murder of the prisoner.

Still, Fremont was yet in the power of the renegade, and might soon be,
through the latter's malice and greed, in the hands of the Mexican
police and on his way back to the Tombs unless something was done
immediately. Before, the renegade had been alone in his wish for the
destruction of the boy