To-night Esmond Clarenden, smiling and good-natured, paid no heed to the sharp eyes of this stranger fixed on him.

“What’s the matter now, little weather-vane?  You are always first to sense a coming change,” he declared.

“Uncle Esmond, I saw that man watching us like he knew us, out there on the Plaza to-day.  Who is he?” I asked, in a low tone.

“His name is Ferdinand Ramero.  You will find him watching everywhere.  Let that man alone as you would a snake,” my uncle warned us.

“Is that his boy?” I asked.

“What boy?” Uncle Esmond inquired.

“Marcos, the boy I pitched endways out of the church.  He’s bigger than Bev, too,” I declared, proudly.

“Gail Clarenden, are you crazy?” Uncle Esmond exclaimed.

“No, I’m not,” I insisted, and then I told what had happened at the church, adding, “I saw Marcos with that man in the Plaza, and they went away together.”

Esmond Clarenden’s face grew grave.

“What kind of a looking child was she, Gail?” he asked, after a pause.

“Oh, she had yellow hair and big sort of dark eyes!  She could squeal like anything.  She wasn’t a baby girl at all, but a regular little fighter kind of a girl.”

I grew bashful all at once and hesitated, but my uncle did not seem to hear me, for he turned to Rex Krane and said, in low, earnest tones: 

“Krane, if you can locate that child for me you will do me an invaluable service.  It was largely on her account that I came here now, and it’s a god-send to have a fellow like you to save time for me.  Every man has his uses.  Your service will be a big one to me.”

The young man’s face flushed and his eyes shone with a new light.

“If any of you happen to see that girl let me know at once,” my uncle said, turning to us, “but, remember, don’t act as if you were hunting for her.”

“I know now right where she lives.  It’s up a crooked street by that church.  I saw her run in there,” I insisted.

“Every hut looks like every other hut, and every little Mex looks like every other little Mex,” Beverly declared.

Uncle Esmond smiled, but the stern lines in his face hardly broke as he said, earnestly, “Keep your eyes open and, whatever you do, stay close to Krane while Bill helps me here, and don’t forget to watch for that little girl when you are sight-seeing.”

“There’s not much to see, as Bev says, but the outside of ’dobe walls five feet thick,” Rex Krane observed.  “But if you know which wall to look through, the lookin’ may be easy enough.  Seein’ things is my specialty, and we’ll get this princess if we have to slay a giant and an ogre and take a few dozen Mexican scalps first.  The plot just thickens.  It’s a great game.”  The tall New-Englander would not take life seriously anywhere, and, with our trust in his guardianship, we could want no better chaperon.

That night Beverly Clarenden and I were in fairyland.