Alaire smiled faintly.  “You will be shot,” she told him.  “Those soldiers have little to eat and no money at all.”

But Jose’s bright eyes remained hostile and his expression baffling.  It was plain to Alaire that her explanation of his cousin’s death had carried not the slightest conviction, and she even began to fear that her part in the affair had caused him to look upon her as an accessory.  Nevertheless, when she paid him his wages she gave him a good horse, which Jose accepted with thanks but without gratitude.  As Alaire watched him ride away with never a backward glance she decided that she must lose no time in apprising the Ranger of this new condition of affairs.

She drove her automobile to Jonesville that afternoon, more worried than she cared to admit.  It was a moral certainty, she knew, that Jose Sanchez would, sooner or later, attempt to take vengeance upon his cousin’s slayer, and there was no telling when he might become sufficiently inflamed with poisonous Mexican liquor to be in the mood for killing.  Then, too, there were friends of Panfilo always ready to lend bad counsel.

Law was nowhere in town, and so, in spite of her reluctance, Alaire was forced to look for him at the Joneses’ home.  As she had never called upon Paloma, and had made it almost impossible for the girl to visit Las Palmas, the meeting of the two women was somewhat formal.  But no one could long remain stiff or constrained with Paloma Jones; the girl had a directness of manner and an honest, friendly smile that simply would not be denied.  Her delight that Alaire had come to see her pleased and shamed the elder woman, who hesitatingly confessed the object of her visit.

“Oh, I thought you were calling on me.”  Paloma pouted her pretty lips.  “Dave isn’t here.  He and father—­have gone away.”  A little pucker of apprehension appeared upon her brow.

“I must get word to him at once.”

Miss Jones shook her head.  “Is it very important?”

It needed no close observation to discover the concern in Paloma’s eyes; Alaire told her story quickly.  “Mr. Law must be warned right away,” she added, “for the man is capable of anything.”

Paloma nodded.  “Dave told us how he had killed Panfilo—­” She hesitated, and then cried, impulsively:  “Mrs. Austin, I’m going to confess something—­I’ve got to tell somebody or I’ll burst.  I was walking the floor when you came.  Well, Dad and Dave have completely lost their wits.  They have gone across the river—­to get Ricardo Guzman’s body.”

“What?” Alaire stared at the girl uncomprehendingly.

“They are going to dig him up and bring him back to prove that he was killed.  Dave knows where he’s buried, and he’s doing this for Ricardo’s family—­some foolish sentiment about a bridle—­but Dad, I think, merely wants to start a war between the United States and Mexico.”

“My dear girl, aren’t you dreaming?”