Many weeks passed before his task became actual. He had been as far as a hundred and fifty miles southwest, and had made a big circle north again toward the Border, when word sped from town to town that Monte Vallejo had held up a westbound Yuma Pacific train in the San Isidro Gorge, not primarily to loot the passengers--that was incidental--but to relieve two express coaches of a string of thoroughbreds en-route to the running meeting at Tia Juana. At this very time, Elbert was in the little town of San Isidro, less than twenty miles from the scene of the hold-up. Southwest with his new saddle-stock, the master of the road and his band were said to be galloping with three troops of rurales beating the trail behind--the latter stung and aroused as never before. Gold bar couldn’t have challenged the mounted police like this theft of bang-tails. Elbert got it all as straight as he could in his mind that night, and the next morning before full light, he filled his saddle-bags with what provisions he could procure in San Isidro and rode out, following the trail which a northern squad of rurales had taken after the bandit. He tried not to appear in too much of a hurry, but Mamie unquestionably felt the force of this fresh clue and the excitement in the air. Sonora was really wrought up. The entire body of rurales had taken the road to make a sure job of it this time. Meanwhile the people kept it a secret where the bandit’s picket lines were stretched, and fixed their faces for a great laugh at the expense of the mounted police. But the hour had evidently arrived for an astonishing turn of affairs. The second day out from San Isidro, Elbert became aware of a persistent rumor to the effect that Monte Vallejo was having trouble covering ground with his new string of horses. They were sprint-bred, but few of them took to steady distance work, so important in the present flight. On the third day, the most incredible of all announcements shocked Sonora--that Monte Vallejo and seven of his men had been captured a few miles beyond Arecibo; that they had been brought back to that town, and were being held there under a guard of rurales, as well as watched over by the little garrison of Cordano’s soldiers located at that point. No trial; only an order from General Cordano was awaited, it was said. Upon the receipt of this, Monte and his seven, without reservation, would be put to death in el cuartel at Arecibo. ‘A mere formality,’ the natives moaned, intimating that supplying the paper would be a pleasant task for General Cordano. This ‘mere formality’ sunk into Elbert’s head. Later the news reached him that another wing of Monte’s band had been taken. The rurales were having their turn of luck at last. XVII THE ART OF DYING WELL