Frank raised himself to a sitting posture, rubbed his eyes, and yawned; and then, seeing that the cook was rummaging in the pack-saddle after more luxuries, and judging by that that supper was nearly ready, he shook his companions, and arose to his feet.  He went to the spring, and was preparing to wash his hands and face in the little brook that ran across the glade, when his attention was attracted by the sound of voices close by.  He found that they came from behind the bowlder; and, after listening a moment, he recognized the voices as those of Pierre Costello, and Arthur Vane.  At first, Frank thought nothing of this circumstance.  He bent over the brook, and plunged his hands into the water, when the thought occurred to him that this was a strange proceeding on the part of Arthur Vane.  If the latter had any thing to say to the chief, why did he not talk to him in the camp?  Frank’s suspicions were aroused.  He stood, for a moment, undecided how to act, and then, dropping on his hands and knees, he crept cautiously around the end of the bowlder, and presently came in sight of Pierre and his companion.  They were sitting on the ground, facing each other—­the chief calmly smoking a cigarette, while Arthur was amusing himself by cutting the grass around him with the Ranchero’s bowie-knife.

“This is very odd,” thought Frank.  “Arthur acts more like a confidential friend than a prisoner.”

Our hero drew back, and listened to the conversation that followed, during which he gained some insight into the character of his new acquaintance.

“I do not admire your way of doing business,” he heard Arthur say, at length.  “You treat me no better than you treat them.  You told me that you knew by my looks that I was a gentleman, and you promised to respect me as such.  You assured me that I should be allowed to show fight whenever I pleased, and that you would not hurt me for it.  How have you kept those promises?  What did you do to me this morning?  You jerked my gun out of my hands, and raised it over my head, as if you were going to knock me down.  One of your men threw his lasso around my neck, and choked me until I could scarcely breathe, and another aimed a pistol at me.  Is that treating me like a gentleman or a visitor?”

“What else could we do?” demanded Pierre.  “Didn’t you tell me that you wanted us to act natural, so that your three enemies would not suspect that you had a previous understanding with me in regard to their capture?”

“Certainly; but I didn’t tell you to abuse me, did I?  See how I was treated when we were coming through this pass!  My keeper struck my horse with his lasso, and came near sending me over the precipice; and you laughed at it.  When I look toward you, why don’t you give me a wink, or a nod, to show that you have not forgotten your promises, and that you will protect me?”