"I figured it all out on the trail," he began, as he leaned back comfortably against the rock, "and the minute we got to Montillo, I made a bee line to the American Consul. A fellow in brass buttons at the door wanted my card and told me I would have to wait in the anteroom. But I'm a rough and ready sort of fellow – always believe in taking the bull by the horns and cutting out the red tape – and I pushed him out of the way and streaked right into the consul's private office. I guessed the old man was kind o' shocked by my manners – or my lack of them – but he's a good sort all right, and when I gave him straight talk and told him I wanted him to mix war medicine right away, pronto, he got busy on the jump. He sent out one of his men to get me three of the best horses that could be had and then he scurried round with me to the big Mogul of the town – sort of mayor and chief of police rolled into one. I ain't much on the lingo, but I could see that the old boy was handing out a pretty stiff line of talk, and that the mayor was balky and backing up in the shafts. Not ugly, you know – anything but that. He was a slick proposition – that mayor. Smooth as oil and spreading on the salve a foot thick. Shrugging his shoulders and fairly wringing his hands. So sorry that anything had happened to these good Americanos whom he loved as though they were his brothers. He was desolated, broken-hearted – but what could he do? And every other word was manana – meaning tomorrow. That word is the curse of this country. Everything is manana – and then when to-morrow comes, it's manana again."

"Well, the old man stood this for a while, and then a sort of steely look came into his eyes that meant trouble and he sailed into him. Say, it did my heart good. Told him there wasn't going to be any manana in this. If there was, Mexico City would hear of it and Washington would hear of it, and before he knew it he'd be wishing he were dead. Those boys had to be helped mighty quick. He must call out his guards, get a troop of cavalry and send them off on the run. I backed up his play by looking fierce and rolling my eyes and resting my hand kind o' careless like on my hip pocket. I guess the mayor had visions of sudden death at the hands of a wild and woolly Westerner – one of those 'dear Americanos whom he loved as a brother – and he came down like Davy Crockett's coon. He started ringing all sorts of bells on his desk and sending this one here and the other one there, and promised by all the saints that he'd have them on the trail within an hour or two. To make it surer I asked the consul as a special favor to say that if they didn't come, I'd be back in a day or two – drop in kind o' casual as it were – to know the reason why."

He chuckled, as he refilled his pipe and went on:

"Of course, I couldn't wait around there on any such chance as that. We went straight back to the consul's office and these three horses were waiting for me. They ain't much to brag of and I've got some on my ranch that could lay all over them. But they're gritty little beasts and the best that could be got on such short notice. The consul lent me his rifle which seems to be a pretty good one, and I've got the pair of revolvers that I always carry with me.

"Then I struck the spurs pretty sharply into the broncho and lighted out. I knew there wasn't much daylight left and we certainly did some traveling. I wanted to get up to you before dark if I could, but you had too big a start. I had no trouble in following the trail – I've tracked Sioux Indians before now, and these Mexicans are babies compared to them, when it comes to covering up – and when the dark came on I knew I wasn't very far behind. Then as the horses were still full of go, I just dropped the reins on their neck and let them meander along. So many horses have passed this way that I felt sure they would get the scent and keep on in the right direction. And as you see I wasn't very far out.

"Well," he ruminated, "I guess that's about all."

"All!" exclaimed Bert, warmly. "As if that wasn't enough. I never knew a finer or more generous thing. You've put us in your debt for life."

"Yes," broke in Tom, "for sheer pluck and goodness of heart – "

"Come, come," laughed Melton, "that's nothing at all. It's I who owe you a lot for the chance to get into such a lively scrap as this promises to be. I was getting rusty and beginning to feel that I was out of it. But now I feel as though twenty years had dropped away since this morning, and I'm just aching to hear the bark of a gun. It takes me back to the wild old days, when a man's life depended upon his quickness with the trigger. My blood is shooting through my veins once more, and, by thunder, I'm just as young at this moment as either of you fellows."

"Did you get any idea at Montillo who this guerilla chief might be?" asked Bert.

"Why, yes," replied Melton, slowly and almost reluctantly. "Of course they're only guessing, and they may not have the right dope. But while the consul was spelling with that mayor fellow, I caught every once in a while the word 'El Tigre.' That means 'the Tiger' in our language, and on our way back to the office he told me enough to show how well the name fits him. Some of the stories – but there," he broke off, checking himself abruptly, "it's getting late, and we've got to be stirring at the first streak of daylight. Now you fellows turn in and I'll sit here and figure things out a little."

Bert and Tom vigorously protested that they would take turns in watching, but he waved them off with a good humor that still had in it a touch of finality.

"Not a bit of it," he said. "More than once I've gone days and nights together without a wink of sleep, and felt none the worse for it. I'm a tough old knot, but you young fellows have got to have your sleep. Besides, I've got a lot of things I want to think out before morning."

Under his kindly but forceful persistence, there was nothing else to be done without offending him, and he had done too much for them not to have his way in this. So, under protest, they stretched their weary bodies on the rude couch they had prepared. At first their minds were so full of anxious thoughts about Dick that it seemed as though they couldn't sleep. But old nature had her way with them and before long they were lost in the sleep of utter exhaustion.

"Mighty lucky I stopped that fool tongue of mine in time," mused Melton, as he looked at their tired faces, "or there would have been no sleep for them this night."

For it was a gruesome story that the consul had told him that afternoon. A fearful reckoning would be demanded of the "Tiger" at the day of judgment. A more villainous character could not be found in the length and breadth of Mexico. Awful tales were told of him and others more horrible could not be told. That he was a robber and murderer went without saying. Every bandit chief was that. Those were mere everyday incidents of the "profession." But the evil preeminence of the Tiger lay in his love of torture for its own sake. He reveled in blood and tears. He was a master of devilish ingenuity. The shrieks of the victims were his sweetest music. He was, morally, a cross between an Apache Indian and a Chinese executioner. There were whispers of babies roasted in ovens, of children tortured before the eyes of bound and helpless parents until the latter became raving maniacs, of eyes gouged out and noses cut off and faces carved until they were only a frightful caricature of humanity. His band was composed of scoundrels almost as hardened as himself and with them he held all the nearby country in terror. Rewards were out for his capture dead or alive, but he laughed at pursuers and so far had thwarted all the plans of the Government troops.

And this was the man into whose hands Dick had fallen. The boys had wondered why the bandit, if he meant to kill Dick at all had not done so at once. Melton shook with rage as he thought that perhaps he knew the reason. Perhaps at this very moment —

But such thoughts unmanned one, and, hoping that Providence would prove kinder than his fears, he resolutely turned his mind in other channels.

And there was plenty to think about. He had been engaged in many dare-devil adventures in his varied life, but, as he admitted to himself with a smile half grave, half whimsical, there were few that he remembered so desperate as this. He did not underrate the enemy. Like most Western men, he had a contempt for "greasers," but he knew that it was not safe to carry that contempt too far. An American, to be sure, might tackle two or three Mexicans and have a fair chance of coming out winner, but when the odds were greater than that his chances were poor. But in this case the odds would probably be ten to one or more. Then, too, these were men whose lives were forfeit to the law – double-dyed murderers who could look for nothing but a "short shrift and a long rope" if they were captured. They would fight with the fierceness of cornered rats. Moreover, they would be on the defensive and in a country where they knew every foot of ground and could seize every advantage. Altogether the outlook was grave, and it speaks volumes for the character of the man that his spirits rose with danger and he would have been bitterly disappointed if he were cheated of the promised fight.

Absorbed in his thoughts, the night passed quickly, and as the first ray of light shot across the eastern sky, he roused the boys from slumber.

"Time to get a move on," he announced cheerily. "A bite of grub and we'll be off. The horses can make better time in the cool of the morning, and if we have any luck we may strike those fellows before they've had time to get the sleep out of their eyes."

His energy found an echo in that of the boys, and in a few minutes their meagre breakfast had been despatched, the horses saddled and they had hit the trail.

The path wound steadily upward. It was too narrow for them to ride abreast, and Melton rode in advance, scanning the road with the eye of a hawk. Three hours passed, and just as they were nearing the top of the plateau, the leader suddenly stopped. With uplifted hand to enjoin silence, he turned into the dense forest at the side of the path and dismounted. Bert and Tom followed suit.

"I smell smoke," Melton whispered. "There's a campfire not far off."

And as a vagrant breeze strayed toward them, the boys, too, sniffed the unmistakable odor of smoke.

"Of course," went on Melton in a low tone, "it's no sure thing that this comes from the camp of the fellows we're after. But all the chances lie that way. We'll tie our horses here and go ahead on foot. See that your guns are handy and don't step on any loose twigs."

A moment later and the bronchos were securely tied, and, silent as ghosts, they crept up the woodland path.