“Ay, it’s Pierre, and no mistake,” returned the Ranchero, with a triumphant smile.  “You thought I had left the country, didn’t you?”

“I was in hopes you had; but I see you are still on hand, like a bad dollar-bill.”

“We are well met,” continued Pierre.  “I have been waiting for an opportunity to thank you for the very friendly manner in which you treated me last night.”

“You need not have put yourself to any trouble about it.  You are under no obligations to me.  As I am in something of a hurry, I will now bid you good-by.”

“Not if I know myself, and I think I do,” said Pierre, with a laugh.  “You are just as impudent as ever.  Climb down off that horse.”

Frank’s actions indicated that he did not think it best to obey this order.  He sat perfectly still in his saddle, looking at Pierre, and wondering what he should do.  He could show no weapon to intimidate the robber, for he was entirely unarmed, not having brought even his lasso or clasp-knife with him; while Pierre held in his hand, ready for instant use, the bowie that had rendered him such good service during the fight in the court.  At first Frank entertained the bold idea of riding over the Ranchero.  Roderick was as quick as a flash in his movements, and one touch of the spurs, if his rider could take Pierre off his guard, would cause the horse to jerk the bridle from his grasp, and before the robber could recover himself, Frank would be out of danger.  But Pierre had anticipated this movement, and he was too well acquainted with his prisoner to relax his vigilance for an instant.  More than that, he held both the reins under Roderick’s jaw with a firm grasp, and stood in such a position that he could control the movements of both the horse and his rider.

A moment’s reflection having satisfied Frank that his idea of running over Pierre could not be carried out, he began to look around for his dog.  But Marmion had not yet come up, and Frank was compelled to acknowledge to himself that he was as completely in the villain’s power as he had been when Pierre had the lasso around his neck.

“Get down off that horse, I say,” commanded the Ranchero.

“So you have turned highwayman, have you?” said Frank, without moving.  “Do you find it a more pleasant and profitable business than herding cattle?”

“Are you going to get off that horse?” asked the robber, impatiently.

“What’s the use?  You will not find a red cent in my pockets.”

“I suppose not; but if I take you with me, I’ll soon find out how many yellow boys your uncle carries in his pockets.”

“If you take me with you!” repeated Frank.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean just this:  I shall find it exceedingly lonesome living here in the mountains by myself, and I don’t know of any one in the world I had rather have for a companion than yourself.”

“Humph!” exclaimed Frank; “that’s a nice idea.  I won’t go.”