“I saw the spur when we were hunting for it; I saw how it would help me get Stan out of the way; so I said nothing, and I went back that night and got it.  I dropped it near where I held Wiley up, and found it again, very opportunely, when I came back to Cobre with the posse.  Every one knew that spur; that was how the posse came to search Stan’s place.  The rest is easy:  I hid the money where it was sure to be found.  That’s all I am going to tell you, and that’s enough.  If it will make you feel any better about it, though, you may be pleased to know that Bat Wiley and most of them were acting in good faith.”

“That is quite satisfactory.  The witness is excused,” said Pete.  “And I’ll give you twelve hours to leave Tucson before I give out the news.”

“Twelve minutes is quite enough, thank you.  My address will be Old Mexico hereafter, and I’ll close out the shop by mail.  Anything else?”

“Why, yes; you might let me have that gun of yours as a keepsake.  No; I’ll get it,” said Pete kindly.  “You just hold up your hands.  Well, we gotta be going.  We’ve had a pleasant afternoon, haven’t we?  Good-bye, gentlemen!  Come on, Boland!”

They backed out of the room.

CHAPTER XVII

That night, between ten and eleven, Stanley Mitchell came forth from Tucson Jail.  Pete Johnson was not there to meet him; fearing espionage from Cobre, he sent Boland, instead.  Boland led the ex-prisoner to the rendezvous, where Pete and Joe Benavides awaited their coming with four saddle horses, the pick of the Benavides caballada, and two pack-horses.  Except for a small package of dynamite—­a dozen sticks securely wrapped, an afterthought that Pete put into effect between poker game and supper-time—­the packs contained only the barest necessities, with water kegs, to be filled later.  The four friends were riding light; but each carried a canteen at the saddle horn, and a rifle.

They rode quietly out through the southern end of the town, Joe Benavides leading the way.  They followed a trail through Robles’ Pass and westward through the Altar Valley.  They watered at the R E Ranch at three in the morning, waking Barnaby Robles; him they bound to silence; and there they let their horses rest and eat of the R E corn while they prepared a hasty breakfast.  Then they pushed on, to waste no brief coolness of the morning hours.  Pete kept word and spirit of his promise to Dewing; not until day was broad in the sky did he tell Stanley of Dewing’s disclosure, tidings that displeased Stanley not at all.

It was a gay party on that bright desert morning, though the way led through a dismal country of giant cactus, cholla and mesquite.  Pete noted with amusement that Stanley and Frank-Francis showed some awkwardness and restraint with each other.  Their clipped g’s were carefully restored and their conversation was otherwise conducted on the highest plane.  The dropping of this superfluous final letter had become habitual with Stanley through carelessness and conformance to environment.  With Boland it was a matter of principle, practiced in a spirit of perversity, in rebellion against a world too severely regulated.