and Johnny found there was some hours to wait for Red, his restlessness
sent him roaming about the country, not so much "seeking what he might
devour" as hoping something might seek to devour him. He was so sore
over his recent kidnapping that he longed to find a salve. He faithfully
promised Hopalong that he would return at noon.



CHAPTER III

DICK MARTIN STARTS SOMETHING

Dick Martin slowly turned, leaned his back against the bar, and
languidly regarded a group of Mexicans at the other end of the room.
Singly, or in combinations of two or more, each was imparting all he
knew, or thought he knew about the ghost of San Miguel Canyon. Their
fellow-countryman, new to the locality, seemed properly impressed. That
it was the ghost of Carlos Martinez, murdered nearly one hundred years
before at the big bend in the canyon, was conceded by all; but there was
a dispute as to why it showed itself only on Friday nights, and why it
was never seen by any but a Mexican. Never had a Gringo seen it. The
Mexican stranger was appealed to: Did this not prove that the murder
had been committed by a Mexican? The stranger affected to consider the
question.

Martin surveyed them with outward impassiveness and inward contempt. A
realist, a cynic, and an absolute genius with a Colt .45, he was well
known along the border for his dare-devil exploits and reckless courage.
The brainiest men in the Secret Service, Lewis, Thomas, Sayre, and
even old Jim Lane, the local chief, whose fingers at El Paso felt every