"Don't lie to me. Where is she?" The keeper of the tendejon asked a suave question. He, too, talked in Spanish. "Who are you, señor? A deputy sheriff, perhaps?" "No. My name is Dave Sanders. I'm Emerson Crawford's friend. If Juan will help me save the girl he'll get off light and perhaps make some money. I'll stand by him. But if he won't, I'll drag him back to Malapi and give him to a mob." The sound of his name was a potent weapon. His fame had spread like wildfire through the hills since his return from Colorado. He had scored victory after victory against bad men without firing a gun. He had made the redoubtable Dug Doble an object of jeers and had driven him to the hills as an outlaw. Dave was unarmed. They could see that. But his quiet confidence was impressive. If he said he would take Juan to Malapi with him, none of them doubted he would do it. Had he not dragged Miller back to justice--Miller who was a killer of unsavory reputation? Otero wished he had not come just now to see Bonita, but he stuck doggedly to his statement. He knew nothing about it, nothing at all. "Crawford is sending out a dozen posses. They will close the passes. Doble will be caught. They will kill him like a wolf. Then they will kill you. If they don't find him, they will kill you anyhow." Dave spoke evenly, without raising his voice. Somehow he made what he said seem as inevitable as fate. Bonita caught her lover by the arm and shoulder. She was afraid, and her conscience troubled her vicariously for his wrongdoing. "Why did you do it, Juan?" she begged of him. "He said she wanted to come, that she would marry him if she had a chance. He said her father kept her from him," the man pleaded. "I didn't know he was going to harm her." "Where is he? Take me to him, quick," said Sanders, relapsing into English. "Si, señor. At once," agreed Otero, thoroughly frightened. "I want a six-shooter. Some one lend me one." None of them carried one, but Bonita ran into the house and brought back a small bulldog. Dave looked it over without enthusiasm. It was a pretty poor concern to take against a man who carried two forty-fives and knew how to use them. But he thrust it into his pocket and swung to the saddle. It was quite possible he might be killed by Doble, but he had a conviction that the outlaw had come to the end of the passage. He was going to do justice on the man once for all. He regarded this as a certainty. CHAPTER XLIV THE BULLDOG BARKS Joyce fainted for the first time in her life. When she recovered consciousness Doble was splashing water in her face. She was lying on the bunk from which she had fled a few minutes earlier. The girl made a motion to rise and he put a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Keep your hand off me!" she cried. "Don't be a fool," he told her irritably. "I ain't gonna hurt you none--if you behave reasonable:" "Let me go," she demanded, and struggled to a sitting position on the couch. "You let me go or my father--"