It was now time to turn his attention to the hooded man. The fellow had been stunned when he was thrown from his horse; but he was now stirring and groaning. Jack bent over him and pulled off his hood. As he did so he staggered back with an amazed exclamation. The face the starlight revealed was that of Alvarez, the man whose destiny had been so oddly linked with Jack’s! “Where am I? What has happened?” exclaimed the man in Spanish as he opened his eyes. “’You have been engaged in the despicable work of cattle stealing, Alvarez,” spoke Jack sternly. “If you had not been thrown at my very feet, you would have perished miserably under the hoofs of the herd you planned to steal.” At the first sound of Jack’s voice Alvarez had staggered painfully to his feet. Now he uttered a cry. “It is you, Señor Merrill! I thought you were miles from here.” “Well, I am not, as you see. Are you badly hurt?” “I do not know. I think my arm is broken. It pains fearfully.” “I will examine it by daylight. Are you armed?” “I was, señor, but I lost my pistol in that fearful ride before the stampede.” The man’s tone was cringing, whining almost. Jack felt nothing but contempt for him. He held that the Mexican revolutionists were about as much in the right as the government troops; but cattle stealing on the Border is a serious offense and Jack Merrill was a rancher’s son. He made no reply to Alvarez, but, telling him to remain where he was, he went off to see if he could find some water to bathe the man’s injuries, for, besides his injured arm, he had a nasty cut on the head. He did not find water and was returning to the tree rather downcast, when through the darkness ahead of him he saw something moving. The object was not a steer, he was sure of that. He moved cautiously toward it, his heart beating with a hope he hardly dared to entertain. But at last suspicion grew to certainty. “It’s my pony! It’s Dynamite!” he breathed, not daring to make a noise lest the pony take fright and dash off. Cautiously he crept up on the little animal. He now saw as he drew closer that another horse was beside it. He had no doubt that this latter beast was the one Alvarez had ridden. How the horses had escaped death or serious injury Jack could not imagine; but escape it they had, although they both stood dejectedly with heads hung down and heaving flanks. “Whoa, Dynamite! Whoa, boy!” whispered Jack, moving up to the broncho with outstretched hand. Dynamite stirred nervously. He pricked up his ears. Jack crept forward once more. In this way he got within a few feet of the pony. Then he decided to make a dash for it. He flung himself forward, grabbed the pommel of the saddle and swung himself on to Dynamite’s back. With a squeal of fear the pony started bucking furiously. “Buck all you want,” laughed Jack. “I’ve got you now and, by ginger, if I can do it, I mean to get back those cattle, too.”