"I hid that mare pretty well. Your man may not be able to find
her." Then he turned his borrowed horse's head toward the brush.

Anto had squatted motionless until this moment; he had not even
turned his eyes; but now, without the slightest warning, he
uttered a loud call. It might have served equally well as a
summons or as an alarm, but it changed the Ranger's suspicions
into certainty. Dave uttered an angry exclamation, then to the
startled woman he cried:

"Watch this man! He can't hurt you, for I've got his shells." To
his prisoner he said, sharply: "Stay where you are! Don't move!"
The next instant he had loped into the brush on the tracks of
Panfilo Sanchez, spurring the tired gray pony into vigorous
action.

It was an uncomfortable situation in which Alaire now found
herself. Law was too suspicious, she murmured to herself; he was
needlessly melodramatic; she felt exceedingly ill at ease as the
pony's hoof-beats grew fainter. She was not afraid of Anto, having
dealt with Mexican vaqueros for several years, yet she could not
forget that he was a murderer, and she wondered what she was
expected to do if he should try to escape. It was absurd to
suppose that Panfilo, her own hired man, could be capable of
treachery; the mere suspicion was a sort of reflection upon her.

Alaire was startled by hearing other hoof-beats now; their
drumming came faint but unmistakable. Yes, there were two horses
racing down the arroyo. Anto, the fugitive, rose to his feet and
stared into the dusk. "Sit down!" Alaire ordered, sharply. He