There could be no mistaking his purpose. With a cry that was curiously animal-like, the man ran for the nearest brush. Twenty feet from him, Pablo made his cast and shrieked exultantly as the loop settled over his prey. A jerk and it was fast around the fellow's mid-riff; a half hitch around the pommel, a touch of a huge Mexican spur to the flank of the fleet little black thoroughbred and Pablo Artelan was headed for home! He picked his way carefully in order that he might not snag in the bushes that which he dragged behind him, and he leaned forward in the saddle to equalize the weight of the THING that bumped and leaped and slid along the ground behind him. There had been screams at first, mingled with Pablo's exultant shouts of victory, but by the time the river was reached there was no sound but a scraping, slithering one--the sound of the vengeance of Pablo Artelan. When he reached the wagon road he brought the mare to a walk. He did not look back, for he knew his power; the scraping, slithering sound was music to his ears; it was all the assurance he desired. As calmly as, during the spring round-up, he dragged a calf up to the branding fire, he dragged his victim up into the front yard of the Rancho Palomar and paused before the patio gate. "Ho! Senor Parker!" he shouted. "Come forth. I have something for the _senor_. Queeck, _Senor_!" The gate opened and John Parker stepped out. "Hello, Pablo! What's all the row about?" Pablo turned in his saddle and pointed. "_Mira_! Look!" he croaked. "Good God!" Parker cried. "What is that?" "Once he use' for be one Jap. One good friend of you, I theenk, Senor Parker. He like for save you much trouble, I theenk, so he keel my Don Mike--an' for that I have--ah, but you see! An' now, senor, eet is all right for take the Rancho Palomar! Take eet, take eet! Ees nobody for care now--nobody! Eef eet don' be for you daughter I don't let you have eet. No, sir, I keel it you so queeck--but my Don Mike hes never forget hes one great _caballero_--so Pablo Artelan mus' not forget, too--you sleep in theese hacienda, you eat the food--ah, senor, I am so 'shame' for you--and my Don Mike--hees dead--hees dead--" He slid suddenly off the black mare and lay unconscious in the dust beside her. CHAPTER XXIV Once again a tragic scene had been enacted under the shade of the catalpa tree before the Farrel hacienda. The shock of a terrible, unexpected trend of events heralded by the arrival of Pablo Artelan and his victim had, seemingly, paralyzed John Parker mentally and physically. He felt again a curious cold, weak, empty feeling in his breast. It was the concomitant of defeat; he had felt it twice before when he had been overwhelmed and mangled by the wolves of Wall Street. He was almost nauseated. Not at sight of the dusty, bloody, shapeless bundle that lay at the end of Pablo's riata, but with the realization that, indirectly, he had been responsible for all of this.