The dark laughing face was upturned again for an instant, and at this moment, from beyond the plaza across the town, came the first trumpet call of the rurales. A rush past the small closed huts of Arecibo, women’s voices uttering prayers--guttural tones of frightened men--the signal from the hollow, where other horses were waiting. Elbert saw their pricked ears in the whitish light--nine or ten horses apparently, three men in charge. The released prisoners mounted at random, but Bart cleared from the tangle on a leaping wheeling mount that looked ashen-colored in the moonlight. A cracking of rifles from behind, the soldiers now having broken out the lower door. The rurales quartered across the town, couldn’t have gained the road so soon. Mamie had forged to the lead; at least, she was now abreast with the hound-bodied runner Bart sat. ‘That’s some horse you’re sittin’, Mister!’ the big fellow called. ‘Some more to her, too--she just can’t help it, can she? And handles with a light hand!’ ‘Oh, yes,’ said Elbert. He felt the strangest lift in his chest--Mamie beneath, Bart and the ashen runner at his side--a sorrel, to show that color in the moonlight--scatter of shots from behind, the deep whimsical voice again from his side: ‘I say, amigo mio--did you hold up a race-track special, too? They tell me I’m riding a stake-horse--old Mallet-head, here--but your mare isn’t asking any odds!’ ‘She belonged to your father,’ Elbert answered throatily. XXI THE RIO MORENO BRIDGE THEY were out of the town, riding west through open country--ten men, including himself, Elbert counted, one led-horse trailing. Bart had fixed the pace of the sorrel at a full run, but still Mamie had to be held in, not to forge ahead. Finally the words from Bart: ‘I don’t hear much American--but that didn’t sound so cheerful--“belonged,” you said?’ Elbert had to stop to recall his last words. He had said the mare he rode ‘belonged’ to Bart’s father. ‘Yes, that’s what I meant,’ he called back. ‘I came down from him--at the last--’ For a full minute, only the drum of hoofs; then from Bart, as steadily as before: ‘Some night for news--Monte Vallejo and this about Dad--same night.’ ‘But I’ve got a lot to say to you from him!’ Elbert answered above the roar. ‘In case anything happens to separate us--I want you to know he has left you some money--quite a lot of money.’ ‘Struck gold at the last?’ ‘Yes, the mine’s rich, too--a gold tooth, he calls it,’ Elbert went on, absurdly. ‘Only filed the top off her so far. If I don’t get a chance to tell you all about it--you go to Mort Cotton, the cattleman at San Forenso--’ ‘Say, amigo mio, aren’t you expecting to live?’ ‘Yes, but I’ve been carrying this message all summer. Been down here looking for you--long time. Remember--Mort Cotton at San Forenso--he’ll fix you up, and I want to tell you, your father never forgot--but kept thinkin’ about you--ever since Red Ante--’