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"Now you may go, Rozales," he said, "and should you ever have an American in

your power again remember that I spared your life when I might easily have taken

it--when it would have been infinitely safer for me to have done it."

The Mexican made no reply, but the black scowl that clouded his face boded ill

for the next gringo who should be so unfortunate as to fall into his hands. Slowly

he wheeled about and started back up the trail in the direction of the Pesita

camp.

"I'll be halfway to El Orobo," thought Bridge, "before he gets a chance to tell Pesita

what happened to him," and then he remounted and rode on down into the

valley, leading Rozales' horse behind him.

It would never do, he knew, to turn the animal loose too soon, since he would

doubtless make his way back to camp, and in doing so would have to pass

Rozales who would catch him. Time was what Bridge wanted--to be well on his

way to Orobo before Pesita should learn of his escape.

Bridge knew nothing of what had happened to Billy, for Pesita had seen to it that

the information was kept from the American. The latter had, nevertheless, been

worrying not a little at the absence of his friend for he knew that he had taken his

liberty and his life in his hands in riding down to El Orobo among avowed

enemies.

Far to his rear Rozales plodded sullenly up the steep trail through the mountains,

revolving in his mind various exquisite tortures he should be delighted to inflict

upon the next gringo who came into his power.

280

The Mucker