Scott did not answer. In his mind, he still saw the auto with the girl in it, going toward the cabin up the canyon. Well, at all events, Juan Pachuca would not reach that cabin alive! Merriam threw the car into its full speed. "They've piped us--see 'em cross the arroyo," he said. It was true. The three riders had plunged into the depths of the arroyo and were out on the other side. They did not seem to be running away, but kept to the rapid trot which they had been riding. "Don't know who we are and aiming to give us the idea that they're out for a little moonlight ride," remarked Merriam. "This car can go, can't she? Sam'd sure be sore if he knew I was runnin' her like this. Why don't we beat it up to the cabin and get the girl and let them mosey along by themselves?" "Because we don't know that's where they've taken her," said Scott, angrily. He concluded that Merriam had guessed right. Pachuca had no particular reason to believe that the car held his enemies, or even that Scott and Hard knew him guilty of Polly's disappearance. They would safeguard themselves by riding on the other side of the arroyo but they evidently did not intend to be scared out of their road to any further extent. The car was rapidly catching up with the riders and soon things must come to a showdown. Scott fingered his gun lovingly. "Hey, you guys, where you heading for?" demanded Merriam, loudly, as the car came almost abreast of the three. They turned as the machine slowed down to their pace. Before they could answer, Scott was out of the car and had them covered. "Pachuca, it's no use--we've got you," he called. "Hands up!" The two Mexicans who evidently understood little English, though the magic words, "hands up," probably penetrated their darkness, glanced at Pachuca for orders. The latter turned his horse and rode to the edge of the arroyo. He was his usual jaunty self, a little travel worn, but not dulled. "Senor Scott?" he asked, peering through the dusk. "What do you want?" Scott paused for a moment, daunted by the other's impudence. "We want you, Pachuca," said Hard, peremptorily. "Come quietly and don't force us to use our guns--we don't want to." Pachuca slid gracefully from his horse and took a few steps nearer the edge. "What's the trouble?" he demanded. "I won't come over till I know what you want. We've got our guns, too." "He's a cool one!" murmured Merriam, admiringly. While Pachuca had drawn the attention of the Americans by his sudden move in their direction, his two friends had ridden up behind him and stood with their guns ready for action. It looked like a deadlock. Scott dropped his gun to his side. "All right, put up your guns," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "We'll talk it over." The Mexicans got the idea if not the words and lowered their weapons. "You know what I want you for," Scott went on, angrily. "Where is she?" "She?" Pachuca's assumption of ignorance was masterly. It almost convinced Hard. "Who do you mean?"