“That’s a lie!” snarled Don Luis.  “How could the American minister learn what was going on in this country?  These mountains of Bonista have never told my secrets.”

“They did, for this one time,” Tom broke in, gleefully.  “And I can tell you how it happened.  Harry, do you remember the day that Nicolas was gone so long that you were uneasy about him?  Well, I knew where Nicolas was, for I had sent him off.  He thought he had found a messenger who would have more success in getting our letters mailed than had fallen to the lot of the messengers with our first two letters.  Nicolas’s messenger, from to-day’s developments, must have got through.  While I was sending one letter I thought it as well to send two.  One letter was to our home offices, directing that the matter contained in my letter be taken on the jump to the government at Washington.  The other letter, Mr. Haynes, was directed to you, sir, for I did not then know that you were one of the Americans expected here.  I thought, Mr. Haynes, that your active hustling with the Washington government might help in rushing matters.  For some unknown reason, my letter to our offices must have gotten through before the letter did that was sent to Arizona.  Your private secretary, Mr. Haynes, must have opened my letter addressed to you.  He realized that he could not with safety to us send you more than the telegraphic code warning to keep out of the deal.  I never told Hazelton, until just now, in the presence of you all, that I had ordered Nicolas to send off more letters by a messenger whom Nicolas felt that he could trust.  But you remember the day well enough, Harry?”

“I do,” nodded Hazelton.  “I was fussing about the long absence of Nicolas just before you turned up with that stranger whom we nursed.”

“And speaking of strangers,” muttered Reade, glancing off down the driveway, “there’s the identical stranger, at this moment talking with the soldiers halted by the gate.”

Almost as though he had heard himself called the stranger glanced up at the group on the porch, then came forward.  He walked briskly, despite his lean, wasted frame.

“How?  So this fellow is in irons?” queried the stranger, halting as he saw the handcuffs on Don Luis’s wrists.  “Justice is sometimes very tardy, though in this instance she has not failed.  Handcuffs become this felon; they are his natural jewelry!”

“Then you know Don Luis?” questioned Tom, after an instant’s silence.

“I should know Don Luis well,” boasted the stranger, drawing himself up proudly.  “Also I know this fellow!”

“My father!” cried a startled feminine voice from the doorway.  Then Francesca, her eyes filled with fright, hastened across the porch.  She would have thrown her arms around the neck of the manacled man had not the stranger caught her by one arm and held her back.

“How dare you, senor?” panted the girl, turning upon the stranger.  “And who are you?”