“Call?  It was a burnin’ roast,” replied another voice.  “I felt low down.  He vamoosed some sudden, an’ I hope he an’ his friends shook the dust of Casita.  That’s a rotten town Jim.”

Gale jumped up in joy.  What luck!  The speakers were none other than the two cowboys whom he had accosted in the Mexican hotel.

“Hold on, fellows,” he called out, and strode into the road.

The horses snorted and stamped.  Then followed swift rustling sounds—­a clinking of spurs, then silence.  The figures loomed clearer in the gloom..  Gale saw five or six horses, two with riders, and one other, at least, carrying a pack.  When Gale got within fifteen feet of the group the foremost horseman said: 

“I reckon that’s close enough, stranger.”

Something in the cowboy’s hand glinted darkly bright in the starlight.

“You’d recognize me, if it wasn’t so dark,” replied Gale, halting.  “I spoke to you a little while ago—­in the saloon back there.”

“Come over an’ let’s see you,” said the cowboy curtly.

Gale advanced till he was close to the horse.  The cowboy leaned over the saddle and peered into Gale’s face.  Then, without a word, he sheathed the gun and held out his hand.  Gale met a grip of steel that warmed his blood.  The other cowboy got off his nervous, spirited horse and threw the bridle.  He, too, peered closely into Gale’s face.

“My name’s Ladd,” he said.  “Reckon I’m some glad to meet you again.”

Gale felt another grip as hard and strong as the other had been.  He realized he had found friends who belonged to a class of men whom he had despaired of ever knowing.

“Gale—­Dick Gale is my name,” he began, swiftly.  “I dropped into Casita to-night hardly knowing where I was.  A boy took me to that hotel.  There I met an old friend whom I had not seen for years.  He belongs to the cavalry stationed here.  He had befriended a Spanish girl—­fallen in love with her.  Rojas had killed this girl’s father—­tried to abduct her....You know what took place at the hotel.  Gentlemen, if it’s ever possible, I’ll show you how I appreciate what you did for me there.  I got away, found my friend with the girl.  We hurried out here beyond the edge of town.  Then Thorne had to make a break for camp.  We heard bugle calls, shots, and he was away without leave.  That left the girl with me.  I don’t know what to do.  Thorne swears Casita is no place for Mercedes at night.”

“The girl ain’t no peon, no common Greaser?” interrupted Ladd.

“No.  Her name is Castaneda.  She belongs to an old Spanish family, once rich and influential.”

“Reckoned as much,” replied the cowboy.  “There’s more than Rojas’s wantin’ to kidnap a pretty girl.  Shore he does that every day or so.  Must be somethin’ political or feelin’ against class.  Well, Casita ain’t no place for your friend’s girl at night or day, or any time.  Shore, there’s Americans who’d take her in an’ fight for her, if necessary.  But it ain’t wise to risk that.  Lash, what do you say?”