Jose Sanchez made use of the delay at Pueblo to institute further inquiries regarding his missing cousin, but nowhere could he find the slightest trace.  Panfilo had set out to ride to this point and thence to La Feria, but the last seen of him had been at the water-hole, one day’s ride from the home ranch.  At that point the earth had opened and swallowed him.  If he were alive why had he not written to his sweetheart, Rosa?

Jose swore an oath that he would learn the truth if it required his whole lifetime, and, if it should turn out that his sainted relative had indeed met with foul play—­well!  Jose told his friends they could judge, by looking at him, the sort of man he was.  He proudly displayed Longorio’s revolver, and called it his cousin’s little avenger.  The weapon had slain many; it had a duty still to perform, so he said.

Jose intended to confide his purpose to Mrs. Austin, but when it came time to start for Las Palmas there was a fourth passenger in the automobile, and he was obliged to hold his tongue for the moment.

A motor trip along the lower Rio Grande would prove a novel and not altogether agreeable experience to the average automobilist, for there are few improved roads and the rest offer many difficulties, not the least of which are frequent fords, some deep, some shallow.  So it was that Alaire considered it necessary to make an early start.

In spite of the unhealthy fancies that Dave Law had taken to bed with him, he arose this morning in fine spirits and with a determination to put in a happy day.  Alaire, too, was in good humor and expressed her relief at escaping from everything Mexican.

“I haven’t seen a newspaper for ages, and I don’t know what is going on at Jonesville or anywhere else,” she confided.

Dave told her of the latest developments in the Mexican situation, the slow but certain increase of tension between the two governments, and then of home happenings.  When she asked him about his own doings, he informed her of the affair which had brought him to Pueblo.

Of course all three of his companions were breathlessly interested in the story of Pino Garza’s death; Dolores and Jose did not allow a word to escape them.

“So they cut our fence and ran the calves into our pasture to brand!” Alaire said.  “It’s time somebody like you came to Jonesville, Mr. Law.”

“Caramba!  It required bravery to ride alone into that rincon,” Jose declared.  “I knew Pino Garza well, and he could shoot like the devil.”

“You said your horse saved your life,” Mrs. Austin went on.  “How do you mean?” When Dave had explained, she cried, quickly, “You weren’t riding—­Bessie Belle?”

“Yes.  She’s buried where she dropped.”

“Oh-h!” Alaire’s exclamation was eloquent of pity, and Law smiled crookedly.