When he emerged from the house a few moments later, it was with a queer, set look upon his face.

“I got ’em,” he said.  “She’s gone—­left three days ago.”

“Where did she go?”

“They wouldn’t tell me.”

“They wouldn’t?” Strange looked up sharply.

“Wouldn’t or couldn’t.”  The men eyed each other silently; then Phil inquired: 

“Well, what do you make of it?”

“I don’t know.  She wasn’t kidnapped, that’s a cinch, for Dolores went with her.  I—­think we’re exciting ourselves unduly.”

The little fortune-teller broke out excitedly:  “The hell we are!  Why do you suppose I’ve been playing that Morales girl?  I tell you there’s something crooked going on.  Don’t I know?  Didn’t I wise you three weeks ago that something like this was coming off?” It was plain that Phil put complete faith in his powers of divination, and at this moment his earnestness carried a certain degree of conviction.  Dave made an effort to clear his tired brain.

“Very well,” he said.  “If you’re so sure, I’ll go to Las Palmas.  I’ll find out all about it, and where she went.  If anybody has dared to—­” He drew a deep breath and his listlessness vanished; his eyes gleamed with a hint of their customary fire.  “I reckon I’ve got one punch left in me.”  He turned and strode to his room.

As Dave changed into his service clothes he was surprised to feel a new vigor in his limbs and a new strength of purpose in his mind.  His brain was clearer than it had been for a long time.  The last cobweb was gone, and for the moment at least he was lifted out of himself as by a strong, invigorating drink.  When he stood in his old boots and felt the familiar drag of his cartridge-belt, when he tested his free muscles, he realized that he was another man.  Even yet he could not put much faith in Phil Strange’s words--nevertheless, there might be a danger threatening Alaire; and if so, it was time to act.

Phil watched his friend saddle the bay mare, then as Dave tied his Winchester scabbard to its thongs he laughed nervously.

“You’re loaded for bear.”

The horseman answered, grimly:  “I’m loaded for Jose Sanchez.  If I lay hands on him I’ll learn what he knows.”

“You can’t get nothing out of a Mexican,”

“No?  I’ve made Filipinos talk.  Believe me, I can be some persuasive when I try.”  With that he swung a leg over Montrosa’s back and rode away.

Law found it good to feel a horse between his knees.  He had not realized until now how long Montrosa’s saddle had been empty.  The sun was hot and friendly, the breeze was sweet in his nostrils as he swept past the smiling fields and out into the mesquite country.  Heat waves danced above the patches of bare ground; insects sang noisily from every side; far ahead the road ran a wavering course through a deceitful mirage of rippling ponds.  It was all familiar, pleasant; it was home; black moods were impossible amid such surroundings.  The chemistry of air and earth and sunshine were at work dissolving away the poisons of his imagination.  Of course Dave’s trouble did not wholly vanish; it still lurked in the back of his mind and rode with him; but from some magic source he was deriving a power to combat it.  With every mile he covered his strength and courage increased.