he always took the least risk. It was nearly midnight, and every noise
was intensified. If a mule but moved it set up a clatter of harness
chains that seemed to fill the valley.

At last a horseman, coming suddenly from somewhere, rode swiftly by each
shadow-hidden wagon, half pausing at the sound of the mules stamping in
their places, and then he hurried up the street.

"Three against the crowd. If we must fight, fight to kill," Jondo urged,
as the ready firearms were placed for action.

In a minute or two the crew broke out of the saloon and filled the
moonlit street, all talking and swearing in broken Spanish.

"Not come yet!"

"Pedro say they be here to-morrow night!" "We wait till to-morrow
night!"

And with many wild yells they fell back for a last debauch in the
drinking-den.

"I don't understand it," Jondo declared. "That fellow who rode by here
ought to have located every son of us, but if they want to wait till
to-morrow night it suits me."

An hour later, when the village was in a dead sleep, three wagons slowly
pulled up the long street and joined the waiting group at the top, and
the crossing over was complete.