clasped the hairy Loustalot throat in a grip that was a promise of
death if the latter struggled.

As Kay drew up in the car and, white-faced and wondering, gazed at the
unwonted spectacle, Miguel Farrel released his captive and stood erect.

"So sorry to have made a brawl in your presence, Miss Parker, but he
would have ruined our old Bob horse if I hadn't overtaken him." He
turned to the man on the ground. "Get up, Loustalot!" The latter
staggered to his feet. "Pablo," Farrel continued, "take this man back
to the ranch and lock him up in your private calaboose. See that he
does not escape, and permit no one to speak with him."

Prom the gray's saddle he took a short piece of rope, such as vaqueros
use to tie the legs of an animal when they have roped and thrown it.

"Mount!" he commanded. Loustalot climbed wearily aboard the spent
gray, and held his hands behind him with Farrel bound them securely.
Pablo thereupon mounted Panchito, took the gray's leading-rope, and
started back to the ranch.

"How white your face is!" Farrel murmured, deprecatingly, as he came to
the side of the car. "So sorry our ride has been spoiled." He glanced
at his wrist-watch. "Only ten o'clock," he continued. "I wonder if
you'd be gracious enough to motor me in to El Toro. Your father plans
to use the car after luncheon, but we will be back by twelve-thirty."

"Certainly. Delighted!" the girl replied, in rather a small,
frightened voice.