“Well, not exactly—but it will lead to that, never fear. It is an affidavit which has been properly sworn to before a San Francisco notary public. It briefly sets out my confession. It was I, Don Manuel de Valencia, who killed Marshall Thurston, or at least was responsible for his killing.” As he spoke the words, the outlaw drew himself proudly erect. Dick was too overwhelmed with amazement to reply. “The young ruffian was shot partly because he deserved his fate for insulting Merle, partly because, as you cannot but know, Don Manuel, the White Wolf, had sworn a vendetta against the whole Thurston brood.” “Then Ben Thurston—is he dead, too?” gasped the listener. “Not yet,” was the grim reply. Then he paused and changed his tone. “But I want to speak not another word about this. What happens to Ben Thurston is nothing of your concern—must be nothing of your concern. For this document here frees you from all legal entanglements, and I have no wish that you should by any chance become enmeshed again. So we dismiss Ben Thurston from our talk and from our minds. When you lodge this paper with the authorities at Bakersfield, it will be a matter only of a few formalities to secure dismissal of the charge against you. For I even put it on sworn record that your jail delivery that night was against your will.” “I have forgotten to thank you for that same delivery. I never dreamed you were my liberator, Mr. Robles.” “Because that night I was Don Manuel de Valencia. But at present I am Ricardo Robles, and in that capacity it is for me to thank you for having so chivalrously protected our dear Merle from the necessity of associating her name in any way with the death of that worthless young scoundrel. I appreciate the cheerful manner in which you have, for her sake, and let me add, for my sake, too, borne your long imprisonment here.” “I’ve been mighty comfortable,” laughed Dick, with a glance around his luxurious quarters. “And Pierre Luzon has been a treasure—a good comrade all the time.” “Ah, yes, Pierre,” exclaimed the outlaw, musingly. “Pierre is a very good fellow. He has been faithful to me for thirty long years.” “And where does he go after tonight?” asked Dick. “He cannot stay here, all alone except for Guadalupe.” “Everything is arranged. Guadalupe is accustomed to live alone. But tonight Pierre accompanies me on my long journey.” “So we may all meet again?” “Yes, we may all meet again,” responded Robles, slowly and gravely, “far, far away from the Tehachapi mountains. But now I must go,” he went on in a brisk tone, “for I have to make some final preparations. You have the affidavit; see that you do not lose it on your ride down the mountains.” “You just bet I won’t,” replied Dick, as he held tightly to the precious document with both hands.