To the west of the chaparral lay the trail, paralleled at a distance of a half-mile by the railroad. The glasses discovered the lone horseman to be Ramon, of Sonora. The boy swayed in the saddle as the horse lunged on. Waring knew that something of grave import had sent the boy out into the noon desert. He was at first inclined to let him pass and then ride east toward the Sierra Madre. If the rurales were following, they would trail Dex to the water-hole. And if Ramon rode on north, some of them would trail the Mexican. This would split up the band--decrease the odds by perhaps one half. But the idea faded from Waring's mind as he saw the boy fling past desperately. Waring swung to the saddle and rode out. Ramon's horse plunged to a stop, and stood trembling. The boy all but fell as he dismounted. Stumbling toward Waring, he held out both hands. "Señor, the rurales!" he gasped. "How far behind?" "The railroad! They are ahead! They have shipped their horses to Magdalena, to Nogales!" "How do you know that?" "Pedro Salazar is dead. You were gone. They say it was you." "So they shipped their horses ahead to cut me off, eh? You're a good boy, Ramon, but I don't know what in hell to do with you. Your cayuse is played out. You made a good ride." "Si, señor. I have not stopped once." "You look it. You can't go back now. They would shoot you." "I will ride with the señor." Waring shook his head. Ramon's eyes grew desperate. "Señor," he pleaded, "take me with you! I cannot go back. I will be your man--follow you, even into the Great Beyond. You will not lose the way." And as Ramon spoke he touched the little crucifix on his breast. "Where did you find _that?_" asked Waring. "In the Placeta Burro; near the house of Pedro Salazar." Waring nodded. "Has your horse had water?" "No, señor. I did not stop." "Take him back to the water-hole. Or, here! Crawl in there and rest up. You are all in. I'll take care of the cayuse." When Waring returned to the chaparral, Ramon was asleep, flat on his back, his arms outspread and his mouth open. Waring touched him with his boot. Ramon muttered. Waring stooped and pulled him up. Within the hour five rurales disembarked from a box-car and crossed to the water-hole, where one of them dismounted and searched for tracks. Alert for the appearance of the gringo, they rode slowly toward the chaparral. The enclosure was empty. After riding a wide circle round the brush, they turned and followed the tracks toward the eastern hills, rein-chains jingling and their silver-trimmed buckskin jackets shimmering in the sun. * * * * * "I will ride back," said Ramon. "My horse is too weak to follow. The señor rides slowly that I may keep up with him."