“But—­senor—­”

“I’ve had business with you before.  Two of your cayuses are astray down the Agua Fria.  One of them is dragging a maguey lead-rope.”

“Senor, it is impossible!”

“No, it isn’t!  I know your brand.  See here, Juan.  You knew that Vaca was trying to get away.  You knew I’d be sent to get him.  Why did you let him take two spare horses?”

“But, senor, I swear I did not!”

“All right.  Then when Ramon rode in here two days ago and asked you for two horses, why didn’t you refuse him?  Why did you tell him you would sell them, but that you would not lend them to him?”

“If Ramon says that, he lies.  I told Ramon—­”

“Thanks.  That’s all I want to know.  I don’t care what you told Ramon.  You let him take the horses.  Now, I’m going to tell you something that will be worth more to you than gold.  Don’t try to rope any stock grazing round here to-night.  I might wake up quick and make a mistake.  Men look alike in the moonlight—­and we’ll have a moon.”

“It shall be as the senor says.  It is fate.”

“All right, amigo.  But it isn’t fate.  It’s making fool mistakes when you or your countrymen tackle a job like Vaca tackled.  Just get me a couple of blankets.  I’ll sleep out here to-night.”

Juan Armigo plodded to the adobe.  The lamplight showed his face beaded with sweat.  He shuffled to an inner room, and came out with blankets on his arm.  Vaca lay on a bed-roll in the corner of the larger room, and near him stood Ramon.

“The senor sleeps with the horses,” said Armigo significantly.

Ramon bent his head and muttered a prayer.

“And if you pray,” said Armigo, shifting the blankets from one arm to the other, “pray then that the two horses that you borrowed may return.  As for your Uncle Jose, he will not die.”

“And we shall be taken to the prison,” said Ramon.”

“You should have killed the gringo.”  And Armigo’s tone was matter-of-fact.  “Or perhaps told him where you had hidden the gold.  He might have let you go, then.”

Ramon shook his head.  Armigo’s suggestion was too obviously a question as to the whereabouts of the stolen money.

The wounded man opened his eyes.  “I have heard,” he said faintly.  “Tell the gringo that I will say where the money is hidden if he will let me go.”

“It shall be as you wish,” said Armigo, curious to learn more of the matter.

At the corral he delivered Vaca’s message to Waring, who feigned delight at the other’s information.

“If that is so, Tio Juan,” he laughed, “you shall have your share—­a hundred pesos.  Leave the blankets there by my saddle.  We will go to the house.”

From the coolness of night, with its dim radiance of stars, to the accumulated heat of the interior of the adobe was an unpleasant change.  The walls were whitewashed and clean enough, but the place smelled strongly of cooking.  A lamp burned on the oilcloth-covered table.  Ramon, wide-eyed with trepidation, stood by his uncle, who had braced himself on his elbow as Waring approached.  Waring nodded pleasantly and rolled a cigarette.  Jose Vaca glared up at him hungrily.  The lower lip, pendulous, showed his broken teeth.  Waring thought of a trapped wolf.  Juan glanced from one to the other.