"But, hell, man! it is not your word; it is only your impression! Give me your word as to how you know it, and I'll take it quick. I suppose it's some inside family history you've dropped on; but the lady is at Los Angeles, and it is some other woman they are nursing at the ranch and deceiving the servants about. That is my theory. There are some women mixed up with that Flores outfit, and I happen to know that El Capitan, who is the brain of the gang, is related to the folks at that ranch. Now, is it reasonable to think that Arteaga's wife would ride at dark, alone, over this country where hold-ups are so common? Would he let her? Would not the Downings have known?" "They probably did know, and Rafael Arteaga certainly did," returned Bryton, impatiently. "Their picnic was more a matter of policy than a pleasure party. They wanted the bishop there, to put an end to that church fight. They wanted Dona Raquel Arteaga to serve as an attraction and help them. She has absolutely refused all along to assist with any compromise; and to avoid it this time she has evidently ridden quietly out of Los Angeles, and her husband, who wanted the picnic very much, has kept her absence a secret." "But if she is as sick as this boy says, how could she take a thirty-mile ride on horseback?" Bryton made a gesture of impatience. "She is there!" he insisted. "I--I feel that she is there. The sooner you let the boy ride for Arteaga and the doctor, the less likely she is to die." "Doctor! Did he say anything about a doctor?" "No." "You see, if the woman was very ill, the fellow would say it was a doctor he was riding for." "No; it would be a priest. These women do their own doctoring. If herb teas and prayers can't save a life, it is let die. Good God! She may be dying now while we talk. Let the boy go!" "Well, I'll be damned!" The sheriff was staring at Bryton, whose face was white and set. He was untying his horse, with quick decided movements, and cinching up the girth. "If you don't send the boy on that errand, I'll go myself," he said, curtly. "Well--I'll be--" The sheriff broke his sentence midway, to stare at Bryton in amazement. "What the devil is it to you?" he demanded. "Arteaga is no bosom friend of yours, is he?" "Not that I know of. If the boy doesn't go, I go! The girl may be dying, and the help she wants, she's going to get. Speak up!" He was in the saddle, and the sheriff, with one look at him, walked back to the group. "Boy, do you carry only a message to Don Rafael Arteaga?" he demanded, "or is it a written letter?" "A letter," said he, sullenly, "and Dona Ana raise the hell if you don't let me take it." "Ah! The Dona Ana! I thought so. Dona Ana is an interesting little lady. Let me see the letter." The man hesitated, but finally pulled the letter from his pocket. The sheriff took it and walked back to Bryton.