Waring became more alert as they approached the adobe buildings of the rancho.  Vaca had drifted into a dull silence.  Gray with suffering and grim with hate for the gringo, he rode stolidly, praying incoherently that the gunman might be stricken dead as he rode.

The raw edge of the disappearing sun leveled a long flame of crimson across the mesa.  The crimson melted to gold.  The gold paled to a brief twilight.  A faint star twinkled in the north.

Dogs crowded forward in the dusk, challenging the strange riders.  A figure filled the lighted doorway of the Armigo ranch-house.  The dogs drew back.

Ramon dismounted and helped his uncle down.  Waring sat his horse until Juan Armigo stepped from the doorway and asked who came.  Waring answered with his name.

“Si!  Si!” exclaimed Armigo.  “The senor is welcome.”

Waring dismounted.  “Juan, I have two of your friends here; Jose Vaca and Ramon Ortego.”

Armigo seemed surprised.  “Jose Vaca is wounded?” he queried hesitatingly.

Waring nodded.

“And the horses; they shall have feed, water, everything—­I myself—­”

“Thanks.  But I’ll look after the horses, Juan.  I’m taking Vaca and Ramon to Sonora.  See what you can do for Vaca.  He’s pretty sick.”

“It shall be as the senor says.  And the senor has made a fight?”

“With those hombres?  Not this journey!  Jose Vaca made a mistake; that’s all.”

Armigo, perturbed, shuffled to the house.  Waring unsaddled the horses and turned them into the corral.  As he lifted the saddle from Vaca’s horse, he hesitated.  It was a big stock saddle and heavy; yet it seemed too heavy.  On his knees he turned it over, examining it.  He smiled grimly as he untied the little canvas sacks and drew them from the tapaderas.

“Thought he showed too much boot for a hard-riding chola,” muttered Waring.

He rose and threw some hay to the horses.  He could hear Ramon and Armigo talking in the ranch-house.  Taking his empty canteen from his own saddle, he untied the sacks and slipped the gold-pieces, one by one, into the canteen.  He scooped up sand and filled the canteen half full.  The gold no longer jingled as he shook it.

While Waring had no fear that either of the men would attempt to escape, he knew Mexicans too well to trust Armigo explicitly.  A thousand dollars was a great temptation to a poor rancher.  And while Armigo had always professed to be Waring’s friend, sympathy of blood and the appeal of money easily come by might change the placid face of things considerably.

Waring strode to the house, washed and ate with Juan in the kitchen; then he invited the Mexican out to the corral.

“Jose and Ramon are your countrymen, Juan.”

“Si, senor.  I am sorry for Ramon.  This thing was not of his doing.  He is but a boy—­”

Waring touched the other’s arm.  “There will be no trouble, Juan.  Only keep better track of your horses while I ride this part of the country.”