As they led Don Ramon back to his blanket and replaced the fetters, his cup of sorrow was full to overflowing.  Oddly enough the leader, since sentence of death had been pronounced upon his victim, was the only one of the band who showed any kindness.  The others were brutal in their jeers and taunts.  Some remarks burned into his sensitive nature as vitriol burns into metal.  The bandit leader alone offered little kindnesses.

Two days later, the acting chief ordered the irons taken from the captive’s feet, and the two men, with but a single attendant, who kept a respectful distance, started out for a stroll.  The bandit chief expressed his regret at the sad duty which had been allotted him, and assured Don Ramon that he would gladly make his time as long as was permissible.

“I thank you for your kindness,” said Don Ramon, “but is there no chance to be given me to prove the falsity of these charges?  Am I condemned to die without a hearing?”

“There is no hope from that source.”

“Is there any hope from any source?”

“Scarcely,” replied the leader, “and still, if we could satisfy those in authority over us that you had been executed as ordered, and if my men could be bribed to certify the fact if necessary, and if you pledge us to quit the country forever, who would know to the contrary?  True, our lives would be in jeopardy, and it would mean death to you if you betrayed us.”

“Is this possible?” asked Don Ramon excitedly.

“The color of gold makes a good many things possible.”

“I would gladly give all I possess in the world for one hour’s peace in the presence of my family, even if in the next my soul was summoned to the bar of God.  True, in lands and cattle I am wealthy, but the money at my command is limited, though I wish it were otherwise.”

“It is a fortunate thing that you are a man of means.  Say nothing to your guards, and I will have a talk this very night with two men whom I can trust, and we will see what can be done for you.  Come, senor, don’t despair, for I feel there is some hope,” concluded the bandit.

The family of Don Ramon were uneasy but not alarmed by his failure to return to them the day following his departure.  After two days had passed, during which no word had come from him, his wife sent an old servant to see if he was still at the ranchita.  There the man learned that his master had not been seen, nor had there been any drovers there recently.  Under the promise of secrecy, the servant was further informed that, on the very day that Don Ramon had left his home, a band of robbers had driven into a corral at a ranch in the monte a remudo of ranch horses, and, asking no one’s consent, had proceeded to change their mounts, leaving their own tired horses.  This they did at noonday, without so much as a hand raised in protest, so terrified were the people of the ranch.

On the servant’s return to Agua Dulce, the alarm and grief of the family were pitiful, as was their helplessness.  When darkness set in Senora Mora sent a letter by a peon to an old family friend at his home on the river.  The next night three men, for mutual protection, brought back a reply.  From it these plausible deductions were made:—­