eta Burro. I know the place. You'll find your horse and a
saddle when you are able to ride."

The bandit's eyes glistened as he watched Waring depart. If the gringo
entered the house of Pedro Salazar, he would not find the gold and he
would not come out alive. The gringo gunman had killed the brother of
Pedro Salazar down in the desert country years ago. And Salazar had had
nothing to do with the Ortez Mine robbery. Vaca thought that the gold
was still safe in his tapaderas. The gringo was a fool.

Waring led the two saddled horses to the house. Ramon, coming from the
kitchen, blinked in the sunlight.

"It is my horse, but not my saddle, senor."

"You are an honest man," laughed Waring. "But we won't change saddles.
Come on!"

Ramon mounted and rode beside Waring until they were out of sight of the
ranch-house, when Waring reined up.

"Where is that money?" he asked suddenly.

"I do not know, senor."

"Did you know where it was yesterday?"

Ramon hesitated. Was this a trap? Waring's level gaze held the young
Mexican to a straight answer.

"Si, senor. I knew--yesterday."

"You knew; but you didn't talk up when your uncle tried to run me into
Pedro Salazar."

"I--he is of my family."

"Well, I don't blame you. I see that you can keep from talking when you
have to. And now is your chance to do a lot of keeping still. I'm going
to ride into Sonora ahead of you. When you get in, go home and forget
that you made this journey. If your folks ask where your uncle is, tell
them that he rode south and that you turned back. Because you did didn't
lie to me, and because you did didn't show yellow, I'm going to give you
a chance to get out of this. I let your uncle go because he would have
given you away to save himself the minute I jailed him in Sonora. It's
up to you to keep out of trouble. You've had a scare that ought to last
you. Take your time and hit Sonora about sundown. Adios."

"But--senor!"

Waring whirled his horse. "A good rider shoves his foot clear home," he
called as he loped away.

Ramon sat his horse, gazing at the little puffs of dust that shot from
the hoofs of the big buckskin. Surely the gringo was mad! Yet he was a
man of big heart. Perplexed, stunned by the realization that he was
alone and free, the young Mexican gazed about him. Waring was a tiny
figure in the distance. Ramon dismounted and examined the empty
tapaderas.

Heretofore he had considered subtlety, trickery, qualities to be