THE MAN WHO DEFIED GARCENO.

Dunstan Times, Issue 2480, 10 May 1909, Page 7

THE MAN WHO DEFIED GARCENO.

(By E. Jerome TJhle.)

It was a bad man’s town; that was the best and worst that could bo said of it. None but bad men cared to dwell within its limits, and, certain it was, that none but bad men ever lived to pass beyond them. It recognised no government, knew no law, and was satisfied to be left alone, a state_ of contentment from which it was seldom disturbed. Such was Culebra. Occasionally its rough solitude was broken by the sudden appearance of a band of Mexican furales, or perhaps, a squad of Rangers from across the river galloped into town; but neither of these ever remained long within its confines and nearly always departed without their man. All these facts were well known to the “Honorable” Benson Hikes, desperado and bad man, late of the States, and it may have been this knowledge, together with existing circumstances, that induced him to invade Mexican soil. Such a course having been decided upon, it followed naturally that his firm determination should bring about the speedy accomplishment of his purpose. Thus it was, one evening, that a solitary horseman reined in his broncho on the high bluff overlooking Culebra, and sat motionless in his saddle, his tall, well-built figure silhouetted against the dull dying sun. The man was hatlcss, and his heavy black hair, matted and caked with dirt, straggled down over the high forehead and shaggy, dust-laden brows. Hunger, too, glaring out from the deep-set blue eyes, had fixed its stamp upon the haggard face and drawn its linos • tighter about the turned down lips. His shirt was open and streaked witli blood across the shoulder, and down the listless arm that hung at his side, hut his fingers fondled caressingly the black butt of the Colt .44 that swung at his hip. In view of which, it must be passed to his credit that the “Honorable” Benson Hikes had not changed Beyond him to the north stretched the silvery Rio Grande, and the long trail by which ho had come was now covered with minions of the law upon his track. The fact, however, worried him little, for between his knees, and securely sewed along the flaps of his saddle, snuggled £2500 in gold, late the property of the Wells Fargo Company. Bad men arc not horn; that is, they arc generally the product of necessity —forced to it by circumstances. When let alone, they are not, as a rule, bad. It is only when the law sets a price upon their heads that they become determined. Thus had misfortune farmed Benson Hikes, and it was such an action on the part of the authorities that had driven him across the river to seek refuge in Mexico. For a long time he sat motionless in his saddle, deeply thinking. This was his last chance; that he knew. Io turn back across the river now meant capture and ultimate death. As the thought of such a fate flu sued across his mind, he snapped his jaws firmly together. It might be a case of “jumping out of the frying pan into the fire,” but with Benson Hikes there was always a possibility that the nio might be extinguished. Sinking ms spurs into the pony’s flanks, he wheelcd suddenly on the trail and galloped down the rough mountain road. Pinto Pete, a half-breed, owned and operated the only saloon Culebra boasted, and it was fitting, therefore, that affairs in general should be directed from this point. The long porch winch- fnrod the trail was usually lined with Mexicans,' Indians, and an occasional renegade white, but on the evening of Bcnsou Hikes’ arrival it was indeed honored by the presence of Sonor Don Garceno, of noble Castile. While Culebra may not have recog- * nised a government or known a law, it bowed itself to the absolute power ot this one man. No scheme was hatched or even contemplated, without the advice of this Mexican; no fugitive of the law had ever entered Culebra to escape the consequences of his acts, and had accomplished his purpose, without the aid and assistance of this same man. The Mexican Government had striven for a number of years to land him within the meshes of their net, but without success, for proper evidence was always lacking. Consequently he prospered, to the effect that law in Culebra meant one —Sonor Den Garceno, or, as he was commonly known along the range, “the Serpent.” The title itself was not misplaced. Nearly six feet tall, and powerfully built, his body possessed that strange sinuous grace which seems given only to the snake. Besides this, he was good to look upon, or, rather would have boon, were it not for the livid scar that crossed his face from temple to chin. Endowed with an unusually clever brain, it followed that the selfmade citizens of Culebra should pay homage, or rather tribute, to his .frpnius, a devotion which was in no nay -diminished by the fact that his cruelty was unsurpassed from border to bortier. Motionless, he stood beside the porch, shading his eyes with his hand, intently watching tno small speck moving so recklessly down the mountain trail. Finally he spoke: “So,”‘ he purred, “it seems we are ko have a stranger with us to-night. He spoke in English, and with an accent that betrayed traces of an excellent education. . , “Si senor.” A small under-sized man rose from his chair beside the door and moved across the porch, it was Pedro, Garceno’s lieutenant, the second power in Culebra; a man to be feared and hated, not so much on account of his own prowess, but because toe stood next to the power itself. •“He rides well, too,” he added, after a Don Garceno did not answer, but strode out to where his horse stood champing the bit. Carelessly, with the grace of an accomplished horseman, ho swung himesir into tlio 'heavy, silver-mounted saddle. . “Sec well to him, Pedro, ho said, are inclined to bo somewhat particular in Culebra.” He smiled, and wheeled out into the, trajl. As he disappeared amid a cloud or dust, the evil smile that overspread the sallow features of Pedro, and the significant movement of his hand toward the knife that hung at Ins belt, boded ill for the newcomer. Henson Hikes, totally ignorant of the extreme vigilance about to bo exercised in his behalf, had by tins time reached the lower trail and lum swinging up the lino at a reckless gal" lop. Had ho been aware of the recent conversation and the identity of the man who had just left 1 into I etc s it is quite possible that his pace might have been somewhat retarded. As it was, however, none of these things being known to him, he rode carelessly into the corral, and, nncinchmg his saddle, turned 'his broncho loose. Three minutes later, the ambling fere of Mr Hikes appeared around corner of the porch, his heavy -saddle dragging on his arm, its long, ft,railing stirrups kicking up vicious tittle puffs of dust behind his glistening spurs. . , , ~ The close scrutiny which greeted his arrival in Culebra was mutual. Hikes searching gaze summed up the situa-

tion at a glance. Mexicans all of them, with the exception of the Indians, and they didn’t count. And if there was one thing that the “Honorable” one despised, next to a rattlesnake, it was a Greaser. The snake, he figured, would never strike without its warning, but a Greaser — Bah, he was willing to trust them only until they reached a knife-throwing distance. After that, in his estimation, the only good Greaser was a dead one. With such thoughts, he passed in to the bar.

The following two hours were ones of contentment and peace to tho “Honorable” one. He had disposed of a rough but substantial meal, together with numerous drinks from a long black bottle, and now was seated comfortably on the porch, his chair tilted back against tho rough board wall. There had been up to this moment little doubt in his mind as to tho length of time ho intended to reside in Culebra. Necessity had forced him there and necessity would compel him to remain there, he thought, until something should happen that would cause him to reverse his former decision.

What that something was, or might be, he neither knew nor cared. Benson Hikes lived only in the present. His previous experiences had taught him, however, that such a something would eventually happen, and he resolved when it did he would meet it more than half-way. Which only goes to show that he possessed a forecasting brain, the only fault of which lay in the fact that its predictions were too general. Something did happen. _ Mr Hikes, while he understood Spanish to a certain extent, had not been foolish enough to betray his hand. It was interesting, therefore, for him to listen to the low-voiced conversation carried on by the three Mexicans at the far corner of porch. It became violently so when he distinguished the name of Sonor Don Garceno; and more than that, fresh fuel was added to the, flame of his imagination when he learned tnat the arrival of this same Garceno was hourly expected. His chair dropped to the floor with a thud. Could it bo the man ho thought? As his mind flew back over the past ten years, another scene rose before his vision. It was in a Mexican town, farther south. A game of poker, a light remark, and ho had lired from the floor at a man —his name was Garceno, too —but the bullet had only ploughed up his face. He wondered if they could be the same. Although not strongly versed in geometrical problems, Mr Hikes realised that it was utterly impossible for bodies to occupy the same space at the same time. If this Garceno was the man he knew, and ho dared to come there, one or the other of them would leave Culebra by a much shorter trail than the one by which ho had entered it. That much' was settled. Rising to his feet, he yawned, and, stretching his arms above his head, entered the bar. It was deserted, and no one saw him as lie picked up his saddle from the floor and passed out of the rear door into the night. The move was not actuated by fear, but rather prompted by precaution. Benson Hikes’ creed of thought admitted of no such thing as “honor among thieves.”

The next few hours found him seated before a greasy table whose scarred and battered surface was indiscriminately strewn with dirty cards and poker chips. Like all men, the “Honorable” one had ids weakness. Poker was the one love of his heart, the only real love that ho possessed. Still, it must not bo assumed from this that he allowed himself to he carried away by iiis enthusiasm. ILs chair faced both doors ; Ids boots were not tucked far under the table, as was the usual custom with him; and his holster was swung conveniently forward at his hip. The cards had boon dealt and Hikes’ fingers hovered uncertainly over tho pasteboards before ho picked them up. At that instant the sound of hoofs win borne to their ears, and the players paused. Simultaneously, Air Hikes’ chair began to move gradually backward. Someone had dismounted and his step was heard heavily on the porch as the “Honorable” one rose to his feet. An expectant silence hung over the little party and all eyes turned search!ugly toward tho newcomer. There was one exception; Pedro s hand still fingered the knife in his belt nervously. Instantly as tho stops on tho porch died away, there came into view, the tall, well-built figure of a man. A dust-covered, silver-trimmed sombrero, drawn down tightly on Ids head, partially obscured the ugly-looking scar that crossed his face. Sonor Don Careen o had returned. Hardly had his form blocked the doorway than his glance fell on Penson Hikes, and the shadow of wonderment and rage that flitted across his face was not one bit quicker than the hand that fell to his hip. “El Americano,” ho hissed, Ins white teeth gleaming in the yellow light. As he spoke there was a bright flash at Ids side, hut it was outshone by the brighter glare which blazed from the end of the table. Mr Hikes held once again boat his man to tho draw, and Sonor Don Garceno reeled slightly. For the moment pandemonium reigned. Chairs were overturned and men sprawled on the floor, or else crowded against the wall, in their endeavor to get" out of the line of fire. Mr Hikes gun in hand, dodged hack against the wall and glanced quickly about the room. The move was well timed, for Pedro’s knife was already flying through the air. In answer to the challenge, his Colt spoke twice, and Benson Hikes, under cover of his own fire, disappeared into tho starlit night. Swiftly vaulting the corral fence, he swung Himself upon his waiting horse, and paused, his small, sparkling eyes riveted on the light streaming out through the open door. If by chance . . . . , . Crack! Someone had chanced, and the “Honorable” one smiled to himself as he recognised the dark form of Pedro fall headlong into the darkness. His satisfaction, however, was shortlived, for tiny flashes of -fire began to spurt from tho window and the poich, and the voice of Don Garceno, calling loudly in Spanish, warned him of his still-existing danger.

There was no opportunity now to think; Mr Hikes realised he must act, and at once. There was but one thing to do. Driving his spurs into his broncho’s flanks, he lifted tho animal, and, clearing the fence at a bound, landed on tho trail. At tho moment, Garccno opened fire, but tho light was bad and the rising dust blinded his aim, with the result that the “Honorable” Benson Hikes found himself galloping down an unknown trail pursued by men who know' every inch of the ground. Affairs had taken a decided turn for the worse. He could hear the shouts of his pursuers far behind, yet ho smiled as he threw the useless shells from his gun and slipped new ones into the chambers. He w'as thinking of Pedro. ~ “That’s one Greaser less, anyw'ay, ho murmured, shoving his pistol back again into its holster. “I reckon— — The sentence was never finished. His broncho stumbled, and the body of Mr Hikes, turning completely over in its flight, measured itself, a mass

of bruised, quivering flesh on the warm sand.

Next morning, when reason returned, Benson Hikes was forced to admit the existence of two very essential facts: One, that ho was a prisoner; the other, that he was considerably “banged up.” The former became more firmly impressed on his dazed mind as he struggled in vain to break the thongs about his wrists and ankles; the latter equally so*when he attempted to raise his head from the cold stone floor on which ho lay. Blue flames flashed before his aching eyes, and nervous little jabs of pain shot up and down his spine as he settled back, trembling in anger. In his struggles, he discovered that his gun was gone. Slowly he watched the shaft of light as it struggled in through the high window of his cell and circled about the walls. Equally as slowly his mind began to recount the events of the evening before; the appearance of his old enemy, the fight, the pursuit, and finally, that treacherous hole. He remembered that much, particularly because he was cursing Pedro at the time. He wondered if they had killed his broncho, and what had become of his saddle.

It was the first time in his varied career that he had been a prisoner, and the thought was none too comforting to a man whose body craved action. His meditations, however, were broken shortly, as the door opened and two Mexicans entered. Severing the bonds about his ankles, they pulled him roughly to his feet and led him forth. Where, ho did not know, and it was doubtful ,in bis present condition, even if ho had known, that he would have cared.

The hacienda of Sonor Don Garcouo was fashioned after all the regular buildings of its class. A largo v/allod court separated the house proper from the men’s quarters and the stables, and it was into this yard that the “Honorable” one was conducted by his guards, henchmen who served their master well, he thought, judging from their grip on his fettered arms. The Don himself was seated beneath a large palm at the far end of the court, a cigarette burning between his long, yellow-stained fingers. Even Mr Hikes, much as he hated this man before him, was forced to admire his wonderful physique; but he admiied more the white bandage about the high forehead. Me was content to know that lie had not missed his aim entirely. . , Garceno received him pleasantly. He spoke only in English, but the “Honorable” one, knowing him for a Mexican, despised him the more for it

‘I sec, Mr Hikes,” he purred, you have not improved much as a marksmau since wo last met at Santa Cruz, Ho smiled. The subject of his marksmanship was a sore point with Benson Hikes, and this, together with the mention of their former meeting, aroused all the irritability in his nature. He snapped back: . , “I didn’t know the seuontas admired scars so much. Perhaps you would care to try again?” . The remark seemed to bring a chaiu?o over Gcircoiio.*’ r I ho smile liulcci fronMiis face and a hard cold, calculating light came into his eyes. ‘•No, thank you,” he replied. Then, straightening in his chair, he added; “Hul have a proposition to make to von, Henson Hikes. Last night you rode into Culebra, a fugitive from justice. You had stolen £250() in gold, ami you were pursued. No matter how ! know, am I not right?’ He paused ,and as Hikes nodded, continued: “You dare not return to the States. You are my prisoner, and you know what that means.” He passed his hand thoughtfully across the bandage. “But I’ll give you a chance. Divide the £2500 with me, and I’ll show you a way of escape and give you a steady job. M hat do von say?” ' Mr Hikes smiled. He saw no way as yet out of his difiiculty, but it pleased him to know that even Garceno had not discovered the secret or his saddle. “I’d awfully like to accept your oiler, Garcono,” he said, “and, hang mo, ii 1 wouldn’t, but the gold’s in Texas.” Like a cloud which at midday obscures the sun, a shadow settled across Game lie’s face, and his lips rolled bacK iu a hideous leer, as he jumped to ins feet. „ , , “You lie, you infernal gringo, and you know it!” ‘ The “Honorable one did not move, but the cold, sharp tone of his voice was menacing: “It’s easy to lasn a hobbled horse, Garcono. 1 reckon u my hands wasn’t “Hands! I’ve got you now where I want you.” As the Mexican spoke his hand foil to his knife and his eyes glittered wickedly as ho advanced. “Don’t do it!” Hikes face became hardset. “Remember, Pedro tried that.” _ The mention of his late lieutenant seemed to awaken a fresh fury m Garceno’s breast. . “Pedro, is it?” ho roaded. J « show you! Sanchez, the chamber and the chains, at six. 111

“No senor, no!” The words Spoken half in entreaty, half in command, caused the “Honorable” one to catch his breath, as lie turned and discovered the source fropj whence they came. A young girl of scarcely more than eighteen was slowly crossing the courtyard. Her black hair and tinted skin plainly bespoke the Mexican, yet he could nob help admiring the manner in which she carried herself. Without oven a glance at him, she faced Garcono, and threw out her hands in apPC “Plcasc, sonor, not that! Ho will tell, I’m ” . , At tho sound of her voice, Garceno s rage leaped its bounds, and seizing a long ridingwhip from the table, he brought tho lash down across tho slight shoulders. “Silence!” he roared. “I’m master here!” , , Benson Hikes sprang forward as the whip descended, but his captors dragged him back, and he stood for a moment breathlessly watching the slight form before him. The girl had drawn away, her black eyes gleaming cruelly, her hand nervously lingering tho pearl-handled pistol at her side. Slowly then she withdrew from the cdurtyard, and the “Honorable” one was led back to his cell. Tho two hours of suspense passed slowly enough for the man who had dared to defy the power of Culebra. His mind had prepared itself for a torture of the most horrible type, yet ho reckoned Garceno could not afford to kill him. Shortly after sunset, four Mexicans entered, and picking him up bodily from tho floor, carried him out through tho stables. It was evident that they wore taking no chances. A largo trap-door stood open in the floor, from which a flight of steps led down somewhere into tho darkness. Down these, and along a musty corridor, they carried him, the light from their lantern flashing weirdly along the rough, rocky walls. At last they paused before a heavy oak door, and, swinging this back, entered a large vault in the natural rock.

Tbo chamber was illuminated by two smoking lanterns, by tho feeble light of which Mr Hikes could discern the

foi’m of Garceno ’seated on a bench at the far side of the room. Then it was that the “Honorable” one first noticed the chains, and, fearless as ho was, he shuddered. A small hollow had been chiseled away in the floor and he figured it was just about large enough to receive a man’s head. Near this, at different points, heavy chains were fastened in the rock. As the Mexicans were busy arranging those, his mind began to grasp the situation and his small eyes bulged in terror from their sockets.

Ho strained at the thongs that held his wrists, but to no avail. At a motion from Garceno, his bonds wore cut, and struggling and kicking, ho was crowded down on his back. His head was forced into the small hole and the chain drawn across his neck. Ho shivered slightly as the cold links touched his flesh and the sharp click of a lock resounded through the chamber, Slowly, one after another, his wrists and ankles ■ were fastened. When the last lock had been snapped the four men discreetly withdrew, and Benson Hikes was left alone with his tormentor.

Garceno stood looking down at the man chained before him on the floor. He said nothing, but, passing over to the other side of the chamber, pulled a lever. Instantly a single drop of water fell from somewhere full on the forehead of the “Honorable” one. Garceno smiled, a sickly-looking grin under the yellow rays of the lantern. “They fall, one each minute, Benson Hikes,” ho said. “I shall lock the door behind me, so you need have no fear of being disturbed. And, by the way, I might add, that the last man who refused my proposition went mad through the night.’ He paused and thrust his wicked face down at the prisoner. “Perhaps you, too, may go mad, Mr Hikes, and madmen tell many secrets, you know.” The man on" the floor squirmed as the second drop splashed down from the ceiling, but he said nothing. “Even if you should die,” Garceno continued, “I shouldn’t wonder if the Wells Fargo Company would pay three thousand for your dead body. Come now, what do you say to my offer?”

“I’ll see you in hell first, you ——” Hikes’ voice trailed slowly away into silence as tho third drop fell. Garceno moved toward the door. “I’m not so sure about that,” ho sneered. “You may roach there first, Benson Hikes. Good night.” And he passed out, locking the heavy door behind him.

No sooner had the door swung to than the “Honorable” one began to reason; he was trapped, that he had to admit. He tried the chains again and again, hut they held fast. Gradually liis struggles ceased, and he lay calmly counting the drops as they fell on his fevered brow. This, however, was too slow, and his mind wandered back ro the young girl in the courtyard. He wondered who she was, and why she had interfered. Then, his mind, whirling in its wild caprice, went hack to what Garceno had told him about tho man who had gone mad. Hikes wondered, too, what this man had done. He closed his eyes and waited. Mow heavy each drop seemed now as it struck him. He laughed recklessly as he thought of the many times in the sand deserts lie would have given everything for just one of these cool drops. Me would even have parted with his nineheoveted gold; but now they were tree! and, even if they did fall heavily on In's head, they were free! Free! ! Free Ml Suddenly he started as lie opened his eyes. Could ho he going mad? How long he had lain there he did not know —it must have been two hours, he thought. Hy remembered a long time back that the hundredth drop had fallen. His head ached and his brain seemed pounded by a million tiny hammers. He ty isted himself in an attempt to escape the continual dropping water, but the chain tightened about his neck and he sank back exhausted. What was that? His ears strained as the sound came faintly to him again. Someone was unlocking tho door probably Garceno come back to taunt him. Slowly he heard the door swing hack ami close again, yet he heard no step. “Senor!” ft was a low, guarded whisper that broke tho awful stillness of the chamber. “Senor!” again repeated the soft voice. Benson Hikes opened his eyes : no tugged against his bonds. In the dim light lie recognised the young girl of the courtyard, and her slight figure brought back reason to his wandering mind. He tried to speak, but an invisible grip about his throat silenced his tongue. , , ~ “I was afraid I would he too late, she murmured, as she hastened across the room and knelt beside him. I had to wait until ho left before I could steal the key.” She helped him to his foot and steadied him as lie sank down on the small wooden bench. “There, drink tiiat; it will help you.” She thrust a flask of whiskey into his hand, and for the first time in his life Benson Hikes did justice to his reputation. Tho liquor renewed Ins strength and lie rose to his foot. “Where is he?” he demanded quickly passing his hand across his swollen forehead. . , ~ The girl loaned back against tno rocky wall and looked at the man before her, this American who had dared to defy Garceno.

Then she smiled. "You Americana arc so funny, senor. Garceno? Oh, he has ridden down to Culebra. You must rest here a little while; then I will get a horse and show you the way. He won't return for an hour at least, so you will be safe hero till then." She rose to her feet, but Benson Hikes caught her arm. He had had little to do with women all his lite, but, rough as he was, he kissed the small hands that had so lately set him at liberty. "I reckon I don't know who you'are, little nn," he drawled, "but you're a regular brick, and there's my hand on it." Slowly the girl stretched forth her hand, then suddenly she paused. Footsteps sounded along the corridor, and the door was thrown - violently open. There could be no mistaking the cruel, leering features framed in the aperture, "and even had there been any doubt, the white bandage, about the head should have set at immediate rest all their suspicions as to the newcomer's identity. It was now evident that Senor Don Garceno had not ridden into Culebra. The Honorable One's keen eye took rapid note of the fact that the Mexican was unarmed, and, even as he sprang forward he smiled to know that, this time at least, they would meet on ecmal terms. So sudden was his onslaught that Garceno, taken by surprise, failed to shout for help; then, too, he may not have considered such an 'act worth while. The frightened girl shrank back against the wall as she watched their struggling bodies reel about the chamber. It seemed, at last, as though the "Honorable" Benson Hikes had met his match. Garceno's hands were clutched about his throat, and the savage smile on the Mexican's face spoke only too plainly ,of the victory already within his grasp. Suddenly, in a moment < f pain and frenzy, Hikes' left arm curved upward, and his huge fist land-

cd flush upon the bandaged head of his antagonist. Garceno groaned andthis hold loosened. Like a flash, the “Honorable” one wrenched himself loose, and, measuring his distance, swung his fist crashing against Garceno’s face. The Mexican reeled, staggered a few steps backward, and fell to the floor, his head striking the rock with a dull thud. For a moment Mr Hikes towered above him, but the form on the floor did not move.

As he stepped back, the girl, who up to this time had remained crouched against the rocky wall, rushed forward and forced the Mexican’s head down into the small hole in the floor and fastened the chains about his throat, his wrists, and ankles. Benson Hikes stepped forward, but she motioned him back savagely, her black eyes gleaming sinisterly as the last lock clicked into place. “Don’t!” she cried. “Lot him suffer now as he lias made others suffer! Oh, how I have waited for this chance!” She rose to her feet and faced tha “Honorable” one. “Ever since my brother died and left me to the mercies of this wretch, as my guardian, he has tortured mo body and soul; spent my money, ruined my life, and swore that he would force me to marry him when I became of age. I stood" it all until yesterday, when he struck mo with that whip. I‘took a vow then to kill him. I, too, have suffered this torture of the chains. Now let him suffer —lot him die. Come.”

Garceno, revived by the dropping water groaned. The girl stepped quickly to his side, and drawing the silk handkerchief from around her nock, stuffed it firmly into his mouth. As the door she paused. “Wait here, ’ she said, and disappeared. Once again the men faced each other, but this time with positions reversed. Garceno had, to a degree, recovered consciousness, and his bloodshot eyes rolled wildly as ho looked up at the man towering above him. Wretch that this man was, it was not part of Benson Hikes’ nature to see noedless suffering, but when he recalled the cowardly blow in tho courtyard, he decided it was none of his quarrel, and his interference was uncalled for. The sound of hoofs along the corridor roused him from his thoughts, and Benson Hikes cast one long, last glance at the man who, with glaring eyes, lay groaning in his agony. Then lie' passed silently through the door, and closed it firmly behind him. In the passage he found the girl and horse waiting for him. His heart grew lighter, too, when he recognised his own saddle, and his belt and gun hanging over its horn. Buckling these about his body, ho turned toward his companion. “Little nu,” he said huskily, “yon vc played fair with me clean through, and T reckon I’m going to do the same. Can yon get me another saddle?” The girl paused in tho act of locking the door, and gazed at him in surprise*. “Another saddle, senor? she replied. “Why?” The “Honorable” one loaned closer to her and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You see this?” ho exclaimed, his hand falling on the sadhidden away between them flaps, and its yours. I want you to take it from

The girl shook her head. “’No scuor,” she replied. “1 have yet much money of my own. 1 am satisfied with things as they are.” She begau to lead the way down the lough

passage. , ~ ~ “This,” she explained, as they walked along, “is the old tunnel under the range, and it was here that Garceno hid his fugitives from justice when the law drove them to him. When we get to Hie opening, take the north trail; jk yy\\\ ’ 5 ‘‘But you,” Hikes exclaimed, “you won’t dare to go back there now! They will kill vou when they find out. “When ‘thev find out,” she said, *‘Garceno will no longer be a power m Culebra. There is but one key to that little room —she balanced it lightly m the palm ol her hand —“and this is it. Besides, we Mexicans are very superstitious. In th~ morning Garceno dead, the key still hanging in his rooms; you gone ; she shrugged her slight shoulders- Why should I be suspected? \ou know, she added, "we have a saying among us that •the devil favors a man who draws lefthanded.’ ” And she glanced at the long black Colt hanging by his side. They had, by this time, reached a wall of rock that rose sheer across their path. iSlowlv she passed her hand o\or its smooth surface, when suddenly it swung back and out, revealing the valley bathed in moonlight far below. “There,” she murmured softly,_ as die “Honorable” one swung himself into the saddle, “there lies the north trail; the river is only twenty miles away, and vou ought to make it by daylight. Hoodbve ” and she struck his broncho smartly across the flank with her hand. A few seconds later he glanced back and saw her still waving to him. ihen a wall of rock rose before his vision, and she was gone. ... Next morning, as the sun was rising, the “Honorable” Benson Hikes reined in his broncho beside the Rio Grande, and .razed across tho water, Texa,sward, tenderly he drew his Colt from its holster and passed his thumb caressingly over its twirling cylinders. “1 wonder,’’ he murmured, as a smile flitted across his drawn face, “I wonder if Senor Don Garceno has entered hell as yet!”