“Say to my father that his wish is my law,” quavered the terrified girl.

Five minutes later Francesca went timidly up to her father in the gardens before the house.

Don Luis turned to her.  He was thinking, at the moment, of his dark plans regarding the young engineers.  In his eyes, despite his effort to smile on his daughter, was a deadly glitter that dried up hope in the heart of the daughter.

“You have been secluding yourself more than usual to-day, chiquita,” chided Montez.

That word chiquita, meaning “pet,” caused the girl to recoil inwardly.  Could it be that this hard, cruel man had the right to address her in endearing terms?

“I am not well to-day, my father,” she answered, in a low voice.

“Then take my arm, chiquita, and walk with me,” urged Montez.

“My father,” she cried, shrinking back, “if you will indulge me, I will walk alone.  Perhaps, in that way, I shall gain more strength from the exercise.”

“As you will,” smiled Don Luis, coldly.  “For myself, I have much to think of.  I have American guests coming soon.  I expect that they will buy El Sombrero for money enough to make you one of the richest heiresses in all Mexico, chiquita.”

“For me?  And I do not know how to care for money!” answered the girl, unsteadily.  Then she turned away, swiftly, unable to stand longer looking into Don Luis’s eyes.

Through the day Tom and Harry had tramped about almost feverishly, stopping at intervals as though for rest.  Now, in the late afternoon, they were on their way back to camp by a route that took them not far from Don Luis’s grounds.

As they came within sight of the place, Tom espied Montez and Dr. Tisco walking slowly at one end of the garden, seemingly engaged in earnest conversation.  At the farther end of the garden from them, Francesca walked by herself, seeming outwardly composed.

“It seems strange, doesn’t it,” asked Harry, “that such a fine girl can possibly be Don Luis’s daughter?”

“She inherits her mother’s purity and goodness, doubtless,” Tom replied.

“Ouch!” grunted Hazelton, stumbling over a stone with which his foot had collided.  At Harry’s exclamation Tom glanced up, then his eyes met a strange sight.

Lying in a cleft in the rocks, with his head behind a bush, and well concealed, lay the stranger whom the young engineers had nursed through an illness.

That stranger was intently gazing at the garden of Don Luis.  So absorbed was he that he had either not heard or did not heed the passing of the two Americans.

For a brief instant Tom Reade halted, regarding the face of the absorbed stranger.

“I didn’t have an idea about you, Mr. Stranger,” muttered Tom to himself, as he plodded forward once more.  “But now—­now, I’ll wager that I’ve guessed who and what you are.  Mr. Stranger, I believe that this one glance at your face has told me your story and your purpose in being in these mountains of Bonista!”