“Drop your gun, companero!” The order was decisive; it was directed at the man who had first appeared, for the other had left his Winchester in its scabbard.

Both Mexicans cried, as if at a cue, “Who speaks?”

“A Ranger.”

The fellow Law had addressed let fall his rifle; two pairs of dark hands rose slowly.  Then the Ranger went on in Spanish: 

“Anto, lower your left hand and unbuckle your belt.”  Anto did as he was told, his revolver and cartridge-belt dropped to the ground.  “And you, compadre, do the same.  Mind you, the left hand!  Now face about and walk to the charco, both of you.  Good!”

Law stepped into view, his Winchester in the crook of his arm.  He emptied the three discarded weapons, then, walking to Anto’s horse, he removed the second carbine from beneath the saddle-flap and ejected its shells into his palm.

This done, he addressed the stranger.  “Now, friend, who are you, and why are you riding with this fellow?”

“My name is Panfilo Sanchez, senor.  Before God, I have done nothing.”  The speaker was tremendously excited.

“Well, Panfilo, that will take some proving,” the Ranger muttered.

“What do you say?”

The gist of this statement having been repeated in Spanish, both prisoners burst into clamorous explanation of their presence together.  Panfilo, it seemed, had encountered his companion purely by chance, and was horrified now to learn that his newly made friend was wanted by the authorities.  In the midst of his incoherent protestations Mrs. Austin appeared.

“He is telling you the truth, Mr. Law,” she said, quietly.  “He is one of my men.”

Both Mexicans looked blank.  At sight of the speaker their mouths fell open, and Panfilo ceased his gesticulations.

Mrs. Austin went on:  “He is my horse-breaker’s cousin.  He couldn’t have had any part in that murder in Jim Wells County, for he was at Las Palmas when I left.”

Panfilo recovered from his amazement, removed his sombrero, and blessed his employer extravagantly; then he turned triumphantly upon his captor.  “Behold!” cried he.  “There you have the truth.  I am an excellent, hard-working man and as honest as God.”

“Surely you don’t want him,” Alaire appealed to Law.  “He was probably helping his countryman to escape—­but they all do that, you know.”

“All right!  If he’s your man, that’s enough,” Dave told her.  “Now then, boys, it will soon be dark and we’ll need some supper before we start.  It won’t hurt Anto’s horse to rest a bit, either.  You are under arrest,” he added, addressing the latter.  “You understand what that means?”

“Si, senor!”

“I won’t tie you unless—­”

“No, senor!” Anto understood perfectly, and was grateful.

“Well, then, build a fire, and you, Panfilo, lend a hand.  The senora will need a cup of tea, for we three have a long ride ahead of us.”