"Oiga! Hands up, both of you!"

The first arrival jumped as if a rattlesnake had buzzed at his
back, the second leaped to his feet with an oath; they stared in
the direction whence the voice had come.

"Drop your gun, companero!" The order was decisive; it was
directed at the man who had first appeared, for the other had left
his Winchester in its scabbard.

Both Mexicans cried, as if at a cue, "Who speaks?"

"A Ranger."

The fellow Law had addressed let fall his rifle; two pairs of dark
hands rose slowly. Then the Ranger went on in Spanish:

"Anto, lower your left hand and unbuckle your belt." Anto did as
he was told, his revolver and cartridge-belt dropped to the
ground. "And you, compadre, do the same. Mind you, the left hand!
Now face about and walk to the charco, both of you. Good!"

Law stepped into view, his Winchester in the crook of his arm. He
emptied the three discarded weapons, then, walking to Anto's
horse, he removed the second carbine from beneath the saddle-flap
and ejected its shells into his palm.

This done, he addressed the stranger. "Now, friend, who are you,
and why are you riding with this fellow?"