The Mexican made no reply, but the black scowl that clouded his face boded ill for the next gringo who should be so unfortunate as to fall into his hands.  Slowly he wheeled about and started back up the trail in the direction of the Pesita camp.

“I’ll be halfway to El Orobo,” thought Bridge, “before he gets a chance to tell Pesita what happened to him,” and then he remounted and rode on down into the valley, leading Rozales’ horse behind him.

It would never do, he knew, to turn the animal loose too soon, since he would doubtless make his way back to camp, and in doing so would have to pass Rozales who would catch him.  Time was what Bridge wanted—­to be well on his way to Orobo before Pesita should learn of his escape.

Bridge knew nothing of what had happened to Billy, for Pesita had seen to it that the information was kept from the American.  The latter had, nevertheless, been worrying not a little at the absence of his friend for he knew that he had taken his liberty and his life in his hands in riding down to El Orobo among avowed enemies.

Far to his rear Rozales plodded sullenly up the steep trail through the mountains, revolving in his mind various exquisite tortures he should be delighted to inflict upon the next gringo who came into his power.

CHAPTER XVI

EDDIE MAKES GOOD

Billy Byrne and Eddie Shorter rode steadily in the direction of the hills.  Upon either side and at intervals of a mile or more stretched the others of their party, occasionally visible; but for the most part not.  Once in the hills the two could no longer see their friends or be seen by them.

Both Byrne and Eddie felt that chance had placed them upon the right trail for a well-marked and long-used path wound upward through a canyon along which they rode.  It was an excellent location for an ambush, and both men breathed more freely when they had passed out of it into more open country upon a narrow tableland between the first foothills and the main range of mountains.

Here again was the trail well marked, and when Eddie, looking ahead, saw that it appeared to lead in the direction of a vivid green spot close to the base of the gray brown hills he gave an exclamation of assurance.

“We’re on the right trail all right, old man,” he said.  “They’s water there,” and he pointed ahead at the green splotch upon the gray.  “That’s where they’d be havin’ their village.  I ain’t never been up here so I ain’t familiar with the country.  You see we don’t run no cattle this side the river—­ the Pimans won’t let us.  They don’t care to have no white men pokin’ round in their country; but I’ll bet a hat we find a camp there.”

Onward they rode toward the little spot of green.  Sometimes it was in sight and again as they approached higher ground, or wound through gullies and ravines it was lost to their sight; but always they kept it as their goal.  The trail they were upon led to it—­of that there could be no longer the slightest doubt.  And as they rode with their destination in view black, beady eyes looked down upon them from the very green oasis toward which they urged their ponies—­tiring now from the climb.