The deserted silver mine they found a few miles above: a cluster of buildings at the top of a high round hill, a natural fortification. As they rode past the hacienda several people ran out, two men and a woman. “_De donde viene?_ From where do you come?” “We got lost, escaping bandits. We fled at night from El Rancho Escondido. Can you tell us how to get back?” Raquel spoke as one of them and they accepted her as such. The little fellow with reddish hair, and bluish eyes--he was a _guerito_, blond and somewhat like the Mayordomo’s son. No, they did not know of such a _rancho_. But one thing they knew. To avoid the desert one _had_ to return north up the valley of the Moctezuma, and that was now held as far as Nacozari by the _revolucionistas_ and the _maytorenistas_. Yes, there were plenty of cattle in these hills, if one would round them up. Sell them? But why not? Something for nothing. The boys had better get down and stay there at the _mina_ for a while until the way was clear. But, yes, get down; though there was little enough to eat, what with bandits and all. Maybe they were _bandidos_ themselves, the woman suggested questioningly. Veritable _nenes_, babies merely out of the cradle, were so desperate and abandoned nowadays. Raquel felt queerly sick. Disappointment very nearly brought tears to her eyes. She brushed her smarting lids with the back of her hand, and then, and then---- “It is the heat, _pobrecito_,” said the kindly old woman, gathering the wilted figure into her arms, while Georgie stood aghast and helpless at this sudden weakness on Raquel’s part. He followed the old woman inside the main building, which was nearly as hot as outdoors. A corrugated iron roof crackled and sizzled like a stove above them. There on a clean cot with sheets the old woman laid Raquel. She had seen at once that the pretty boy was a girl. She was shocked. What! Riding astride, wearing _pantalones_! She had heard Gringo girls did that! “Hush,” whispered Georgie, who by now had recovered his presence of mind. “We are _rancheros_. My sister came to buy cattle, and when the _rancho_ was attacked by soldiers, we had to get away in the night. Of course we lost our way. “But we will soon get out,” he added with a confident swagger. “I guess they’re making a fuss about us up there by now. The Mexicans better leave us alone.” Within the house, the old woman was bathing Raquel’s head, and when she opened her eyes wearily for a moment, the Mexican held to her lips a gourd of some cooling drink. When she had drunk it, she sank back into a heavy slumber which lasted until nightfall. Outside their door, a young Mexican lounged against a post. When no one was looking, he moved his foot and, stooping, picked up a silver coin that he had covered when it fell from Raquel’s pocket. “Froylan,” called a voice; “Froylan.” And he sauntered off.