spoke your name and the name of Señor Bill Donovan of the Ortez Mine. I
heard only your name and his, but I was afraid. You will not tell them
that I was with my Uncle José?"

"No. And thanks, Ramon. I think I know what they were talking about. Go
back home, pronto. If you were to be seen with me--"

"The señor is gracious. He has given me my life. I have nothing to
give--but this." And Ramon drew the little silver crucifix from his
shirt and pressed it in Waring's hand.

"Oh, here, muchacho--"

But Ramon was already hastening down a side street. Waring smiled and
shook his head. For a moment he stood looking at the little crucifix
shining on the palm of his hand. He slipped it into his pocket and
strode back up the street. For an hour or more he walked about,
listening casually to this or that bit of conversation. Occasionally he
heard Mexicans discussing the Ortez robbery. Donovan's name, Waring's
own name, Vaca's, and even Ramon's were mentioned. It seemed strange to
him that news should breed so fast. Few knew that he had returned.
Possibly Donovan had spread the report that the bandits had made their
escape with the money. That would mean that Waring had been outwitted.
And Donovan would like nothing better than to injure Waring's
reputation.

Finding himself opposite the hotel, Waring glanced about and strode in.
As he entered the hallway leading to his room three men rose from the
leather chairs near the lobby window and followed him. Waring's door
closed. He undressed and went to bed. He had been asleep but a few