checked as the leader retorted angrily:--

"That's all very well; but how do I know that you're the man represented
in that letter? Pancho Robles may know you, but I don't."

"That you can find out very easily," said Clarence. "There is a man
among your party who knows me,--Mr. Hooker. Ask him."

The man turned, with a quick mingling of surprise and suspicion, to the
gloomy, imperturbable Hooker. Clarence could not hear the reply of that
young gentleman, but it was evidently not wanting in his usual dark,
enigmatical exaggeration. The man surlily opened the gate.

"All the same," he said, still glancing suspiciously at Hooker, "I don't
see what HE'S got to do with you."

"A great deal," said Clarence, entering the courtyard, and stepping into
the veranda; "HE'S ONE OF MY TENANTS."

"Your WHAT?" said the man, with a coarse laugh of incredulity.

"My tenants," repeated Clarence, glancing around the courtyard
carelessly. Nevertheless, he was relieved to notice that the three
or four Mexicans of the party did not seem to be old retainers of the
rancho. There was no evidence of the internal treachery he had feared.

"Your TENANTS!" echoed the man, with an uneasy glance at the faces of
the others.

"Yes," said Clarence, with business brevity; "and, for the matter of