“But he can’t ride with his hands behind his back like that,” objected Dick. “Oh, yes, he can,” grinned Pierre. “Ze good horseman ride wid his knees, and most of ze road you can be by his side and hold him on. And it is ze only way, for ze key, as I have said, is gone.” “I suppose we’ve got to accept the situation,” said Dick, with a glance at Sharkey’s lugubrious countenance. The man of strength was obviously crestfallen at his almost ridiculous plight of powerlessness. Pierre resumed his instructions. “You will not go back to Comanche Point, but will take ze mule trail down into ze valley. You know it, Mr. Willoughby—it is about one mile furzer on.” “I know it,” replied Dick. “You will leave Mr. Sharkey at the rancho and zen ride to ze place where your friends are waiting for you. Now, zat is all. I must go. We have already said our adios, my dear young friend.” Dick grasped the proffered hand and warmly pressed it. “Good-bye, Pierre. I can never thank you enough for all you have done for me. Good-bye.” Leach Sharkey was assisted into the saddle, and the horsemen started on their way. “Good-bye,” shouted back Dick Willoughby, yet once again. “Adios!” And as the two figures disappeared around a bend, the Frenchman uttered a deep sigh. “A splendid young fellow! I wonder shall we ever meet again!”—this was the thought in his mind as for just a moment he stood in an attitude of deep dejection. Then swinging around, he started back at a run for Comanche Point. CHAPTER XXXVII—The Dawn of Comprehension ALL through the afternoon at La Siesta, Merle was in a meditative mood. After luncheon Mrs. Darlington had returned to her letter-writing and her book-keeping. Munson and Grace had departed for a walk through the pine woods, after vain but not too strenuous endeavors to get Merle to accompany them. Left to her own resources she had retired to the drawing room, had tried to interest herself at the piano, but after a little while had given up the attempt; and, coiled in a big chair, had surrendered herself to a “big think,” as she mentally termed it. In that momentary searching of the eyes between her and Mr. Robles just before their parting in the rose garden, there had come a flash of revelation to her soul. She had divined a yearning in his gaze that was surely more than the affection of an old and devoted friend. There was passionate tenderness that belied the gentle yet almost perfunctory kiss on the brow that he had finally bestowed at parting. Nor had she failed to notice the restraint which the strong man had imposed upon himself. And strangely enough, her own momentary impulse had been to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him, just as a fond daughter might have kissed a father at such an emotional moment—on the eve of a long journey, the whither unrevealed, the return all so uncertain.