The two crossed the pasture to the river and waded through the shallow stream to the other side. They remained in the shadows of the bank, following the bend of the river as it circled the village. Through the cottonwoods they crept toward the rear of the two-story house where Pasquale lived and Ruth was held prisoner. From a sandy spot at the foot of a cotton wood tree Yeager dug a rope ladder. "Been making it while I was night-herding the remuda," he told Farrar in answer to a surprised question. "Beats me you didn't make an auto for us to get away in," answered his admiring friend with a grin. "Wait here," whispered Steve. "I'm going forward to look the ground over. Keep your eyes open in case I give a signal." The range-rider snaked his way toward the house, moving so slowly and noiselessly that Farrar lost sight of him entirely and began to wonder where he had gone. It must have been nearly twenty minutes later that he caught a glimpse of him without his rifle. Yeager was engaged in confidential talk with a guard in uniform. Frank saw the bottle pass from his friend to the Mexican, who took a pull at it. A second guard joined the two presently. He also took a drink. The three disappeared together into the shadowy darkness of the house wall. Farrar was wondering what had happened when a single figure emerged into the moonlight and made a signal for him to come forward. Yeager did not wait for him, but climbed up the post of the back porch as he had done once before. The camera man was on hand by the time Steve reached the roof. He looked up silently while his friend reached across and rapped on the window of a lighted room. The sash was raised very gently. Ruth leaned out. "Is it you, Steve?" Her voice was tremulous and tearful. It was a safe guess she had been sobbing her misery into a pillow. "Yes." He caught hold of the edge of the window and swung across, working himself up and in by sheer power of muscle. Rapidly he fastened the end of the rope ladder to the head of the bed, which he first half lifted and half dragged to the window. The rest of the ladder he threw out. "Ready, Ruth?" he asked, turning to her. She nodded. He was offering his arm to help her through the window when a frightened call came from below. "Steve!" He looked down. A Mexican trooper, one of those set to guard the front of the house, was approaching. A glance was enough to show that he knew something to be wrong. His startled eyes passed from Farrar to the rope ladder. They followed it from the ground to the window. He stopped, almost under the window. The camera man, taken aback, did not know what to do. Was he to run the risk of a shot? Even while he hesitated the man in uniform reached for a revolver.