“They lined up just as I expected,” muttered the sheriff as he advanced down the room, “and it’s a lot of good it’s going to do them.  Say,” he called to Flick and Gallito, “it ain’t no use drawing your guns, boys.  I guess you two old hands got sense enough to see that.  So all you got to do is to hand over the prisoner.  We’ll tend to the rest of you later.”

“I guess you’re all right”—­Bob Flick’s soft voice had a carrying quality which caused his words to be heard all over the hall—­“but we all, Gallito and myself here, feel kind of puzzled.  Of course, we see right from the first what the game was and that you were after us, but we ain’t wise yet.”

[Illustration:  “There stood the Black Pearl alone.”]

“Is that so?” sneered the sheriff.  “Well, you soon will be.  You step aside from that curtain, and, Bob Flick, my men have orders to wing you and Gallito both the minute you even start to throw your hands back.”

Gallito shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands and Flick laughingly waved his in the air.

“I guess you’re right there, Bill,” he said.  “You sure got the argument of numbers.  But say, boys, honest, what bug you all got in your heads?  You see in this land of the free you can’t subject me and my friend Gallito to such indignities as you’re a heaping on us.  As far as I can make out, you’re only laying up trouble for yourself, and also”—­here there rang a peculiarly menacing note through his soft, southern voice—­“if I’m correct, you’re accusing Miss Pearl Gallito of being a suspicious character, and I’m assuring you now, boys, that either in the desert or here in the mountains that that’s the sort of thing you’ve got to answer for.”

“Stop your kidding, Bob,” said the sheriff, impatiently.  He took a rapid stride forward and with one quick sweep of the arm ripped back the curtain.

Then he fell back staring, dumb with surprise.  For there stood the Black Pearl alone, a man’s coat buttoned across her bare chest, and beneath it the froth of her rose-colored silk petticoats.  She stood nonchalantly enough, her head thrown back, her hands on her hips, surveying the group of men with a quick, disdainful smile, and then laughed insolently across them at Hanson.

“My Lord!” cried the sheriff, recovering himself, “how did you get here?  Why, you just went out of the door.”

“Gee!  Jose dressed up in her clothes and made a getaway,” called a shrill voice from the rear.

The sheriff swore audibly and violently as he ran to the door.  “Here, three of you boys,” he ordered, “stay here and hold these prisoners.  It ain’t ten minutes since the others left and there’s no chance on earth for ’em to escape.  We’ll have ’em before you know it.  Come on, the rest of you.”

CHAPTER XIII

The morning dawned, but the Sheriff and his aids, their numbers considerably increased by the various masculine inhabitants of Colina who had joyously proffered their assistance—­welcoming anything that promised a little excitement after the wearing monotony of the winter—­were still seeking Jose, who seemed to have vanished in some manner only to be explained as miraculous.