It was all she could do to keep from springing up, but she still feigned heavy sleep. The figure kneeling beside her rose and, silhouetted for a moment against the dim light outside, slipped through the door. Raquel sat up quickly and drew her little automatic from her boot; then she reached for Georgie beside her. He was not there. Her groping hands could find no boyish figure by her side. Afraid with a fear such as she had never known before Raquel on her hands and knees tremblingly felt over every inch of the dirt floor. Then, crouching, she made towards the door, her eyes now accustomed to the darkness, and slipped through. A mad torture possessed her. What had become of Georgie? Had Manuel hurt him? The night was so dark that only instinct could direct one. Even the stars had gone out. Raquel, hugging the walls of the house, moved slowly around towards the corrals--or where she supposed the corrals must be. But she had completely circled the squalid little building and was back at the front door without having passed any corral. “Why didn’t I stay in the room?” she thought. “I’ll get back there, and when that beast Manuel returns I’ll shoot at him, frighten him good, or wing him and tie him up. Then I’ll find Georgie.” Her left hand crept cautiously to the door jamb. A man’s hard hand closed quietly over it. Raquel shot from the hip. She could kill a striking rattlesnake without raising her arm. The shot must have come as a surprise to that sneaking figure in the darkened room. There was a groan; then silence as Raquel again flattened herself against the outside wall. A momentary fear that she might have “winged” Georgie was quelled by a clear “coo-ee” coming to her out of the darkness, from back on the hillside--the cattle call in Georgie’s unmistakable treble, with that rising inflection at the end. He was alive then, and near. She hardly dared move, for the chances were that Manuel was simply lying low. She had aimed for his right shoulder--or where it should have been. Backing away from that hateful house she retreated through the dark in the direction of Georgie’s voice. About fifty feet back on the hillside she ran into the corral. She heard the sound of horses and gave the chirrup with which she always called the pinto. It was a sign for both Georgie and the horse. She was rewarded by having the spotted pony’s nose laid eagerly in her outstretched hand, while another soft “coo-ee-ee” sounded about thirty feet away. Kneeling above Georgie’s prostrate body Raquel found him bound hand and foot, and only one skilled in the handling of rope could have loosened the lariat in that darkness. “Oh, what a sock on the head,” groaned Georgie. “He knocked me out while I was asleep, that coyote of a Manuel. Oh, Rakie, are you all right? Feel and see if the money is in my boots yet. _Gracias a Dios._ We must beat it, Sis.”