Johnny Nelson was always late, and on this occasion he was later than usual.  He was to have joined Hopalong and Red, if Red had arrived, at Dent’s at noon the day before, and now it was after nine o’clock at night as he rode through San Felippe without pausing and struck east for the canyon.  The dropping trail down the canyon was serious enough in broad daylight, but at night to attempt its passage was foolhardy, unless one knew every turn and slant by heart, which Johnny did not.  He was thirty-three hours late now, and he was determined to make up what he could in the next three.

When Johnny left Hopalong at Dent’s he had given his word to be back on time and not to keep his companions waiting, for Red might be on time and he would chafe if he were delayed.  But, alas for Johnny’s good intentions, his course took him through a small Mexican hamlet in which lived a senorita of remarkable beauty and rebellious eyes; and Johnny tarried in the town most of the day, riding up and down the streets, practising the nice things he would say if he met her.  She watched him from the heavily draped window, and sighed as she wondered if her dashing Americano would storm the house and carry her off like the knights of old.  Finally he had to turn away with heavy and reluctant heart, promising himself that he would return when no petulant and sarcastic companions were waiting for him.  Then—­ah! what dreams youth knows.

Half an hour ahead of him on another trail rode Juan, smiling with satisfaction.  He had come to San Felippe to get a look at the canyon on Friday nights, and Martin had given him an excuse entirely unexpected.  For this he was truly grateful, even while he knew that the American had tried to pick a quarrel with him and thus rid the border of a man entirely too clever for the good of customs receipts; and failing in that, had hoped the treacherous canyon trail would gain that end in another manner.  Old Jim Lane’s fingers touched wires not one whit more sensitive than those which had sent Juan Alvarez to look over the San Miguel—­and Lane’s wires had been slow this time.  When Juan had left the saloon the night before and had seen Manuel slip away from the group and ride off into the north, he had known that the ghost would show itself the following night.

But Juan was to be disappointed.  He was still some distance from the canyon when a snarling bulk landed on the haunches of his horse.  He jerked loose his gun and fired twice and then knew nothing.  When he opened his eyes he lay quietly, trying to figure it out with a head throbbing with pain from his fall.  The cougar must have been desperate for food to attack a man.  He moved his foot and struck something soft and heavy.  His shots had been lucky, but they had not saved him his horse and a sprained arm and leg.  There would be no gauntlet found at the Big Bend at daylight.