The chase was over.  Half-stunned, the enemy of Don Miguel Jose Farrel II lay flat on his back, blinking up at Don Miguel Farrel III as the latter’s knees pressed the Loustalot breast, the while his fingers clasped the hairy Loustalot throat in a grip that was a promise of death if the latter struggled.

As Kay drew up in the car and, white-faced and wondering, gazed at the unwonted spectacle, Miguel Farrel released his captive and stood erect.

“So sorry to have made a brawl in your presence, Miss Parker, but he would have ruined our old Bob horse if I hadn’t overtaken him.”  He turned to the man on the ground.  “Get up, Loustalot!” The latter staggered to his feet.  “Pablo,” Farrel continued, “take this man back to the ranch and lock him up in your private calaboose.  See that he does not escape, and permit no one to speak with him.”

Prom the gray’s saddle he took a short piece of rope, such as vaqueros use to tie the legs of an animal when they have roped and thrown it.

“Mount!” he commanded.  Loustalot climbed wearily aboard the spent gray, and held his hands behind him with Farrel bound them securely.  Pablo thereupon mounted Panchito, took the gray’s leading-rope, and started back to the ranch.

“How white your face is!” Farrel murmured, deprecatingly, as he came to the side of the car.  “So sorry our ride has been spoiled.”  He glanced at his wrist-watch.  “Only ten o’clock,” he continued.  “I wonder if you’d be gracious enough to motor me in to El Toro.  Your father plans to use the car after luncheon, but we will be back by twelve-thirty.”

“Certainly.  Delighted!” the girl replied, in rather a small, frightened voice.

“Thank you.”  He considered a moment.  “I think it no less than fair to warn you, Miss Parker, that my trip has to do with a scheme that may deprive your father of his opportunity to acquire the Rancho Palomar at one-third of its value.  I think the scheme may be at least partially successful, but if I am to succeed at all, I’ll have to act promptly.”

She held out her hand to him.

“My father plays fair, Don Mike.  I hope you win.”

And she unlatched the door of the tonneau and motioned him to enter.

XIII

The return of Pablo Artelan to the hacienda with his employer’s prisoner was a silent and dignified one up to the moment they reached the entrance to the palm avenue.  Here the prisoner, apparently having gathered together his scattered wits, turned in the saddle and addressed his guard.

“Artelan,” he said, in Spanish, “if you will permit me to go, I will give you five thousand dollars.”

“If you are worth five thousand dollars to me,” the imperturbable Pablo replied, calmly, “how much more are you worth to Don Miguel Farrel?”

“Ten thousand!  You will be wealthy.”

“What need have I for wealth, Loustalot?  Does not Don Miguel provide all things necessary for a happy existence?”