"It shall be as you wish," said Armigo, curious to learn more of the matter. At the corral he delivered Vaca's message to Waring, who feigned delight at the other's information. "If that is so, Tio Juan," he laughed, "you shall have your share--a hundred pesos. Leave the blankets there by my saddle. We will go to the house." From the coolness of night, with its dim radiance of stars, to the accumulated heat of the interior of the adobe was an unpleasant change. The walls were whitewashed and clean enough, but the place smelled strongly of cooking. A lamp burned on the oilcloth-covered table. Ramon, wide-eyed with trepidation, stood by his uncle, who had braced himself on his elbow as Waring approached. Waring nodded pleasantly and rolled a cigarette. José Vaca glared up at him hungrily. The lower lip, pendulous, showed his broken teeth. Waring thought of a trapped wolf. Juan glanced from one to the other. But the gringo seemed incurious, merely gazing at the pictures on the walls; a flaming print of the Madonna, one of the Christ, a cheap photograph of Juan and his señora taken on their wedding day, an abalone shell on which was painted something resembling a horse and rider-- "The gold is hidden in the house of Pedro Salazar, of Sonora. It is buried in the earth beneath his bed." José Vaca had spoken, but Waring was watching Ramon's eyes. "All right, hombre. Muchas gracias." "And now you will let me go?" queried Vaca. "I haven't said so." Waring's tone was pleasant, almost indifferent. Ramon's face was troubled. Of what use was it to try and deceive the gringo? But Waring was smiling. Did he, then, believe such an obvious lie? "Bueno!" Waring exclaimed. "That lets _you_ out. Now, what about you, Ramon?" "My uncle has spoken," said Ramon. "I have nothing to say." "Then you will ride with me to Sonora." "As you say, señor." "All right. Don't sit up all night praying. That won't do any good. Get some sleep. And you, too, Juan." And Waring turned quickly to Armigo. "Sleep all you can. You'll feel better in the morning." Waring turned and strode out. In the corral he spread his blankets. With his head on the saddle, he lay gazing up at the stars. The horses, with the exception of Waring's buckskin Dex, huddled in one corner of the corral. That strange shape stretched quietly on the ground was new to them. For a long time the horse Dex stood with head lowered and one hip sagged as he rested. Just before Waring slept he felt a gentle nosing of his blankets. The big horse sniffed curiously. "Strange blankets, eh?" queried Waring drowsily. "But it's the same old partner, Dex." The horse walked slowly away, nosing along the fence. Waring knew that he was well sentineled. The big buckskin would resent the approach of a stranger by snorting. Waring turned on his side and slept. His day's work was done. CHAPTER III _Donovan's Hand_