"That's right. Must just got here, or there'd 'a' been a guard up above. The fellow is comin' now--see?" He was loping along carelessly, Mexican from high hat to jingling spurs, sitting the saddle as though moulded there, a young fellow, dark faced, but with a livid scar along one cheek. "Juan Cateras, the little devil," muttered Sikes, as the rider drew nearer. "There's some pot brewing if he is in it." The rider drew up his horse, and lifted his hat, his smiling lips revealing a row of white teeth. "A pleasant day, _senor_," he said graciously, his dark eyes searching the faces of the two men, and then dwelling with interest on the woman. "Ah, your pardon, _senorita_; your presence is more than welcome here." He rested one hand on the wagon box, the expression of his face hardening. "Yet an explanation might not be out of place--the Senor Mendez may not be pleased." "We came under orders from Lacy," replied Moore confidently. "You have seen us both before." "True, but not the lady; you will tell me about her?" Sikes climbed down over the wheel. "It is like this, _senor_," he began. "Lacy did not know your party was here; he thought you were all south for another month yet. He would keep this girl quiet, out of the way for a time. She is from New York, and knows too much." "From New York?" The quick eyes of the Mexican again sought her face. "She is to be held prisoner?" "Yes, _senor_." "Again the case of that man Cavendish?" "We were not told, only ordered to bring her here and guard her until we heard otherwise. It was not known you were back." "We came three hours ago; you see what we brought," with a wave of the hand. "All was clear above?" "Not a sign; I searched with field-glasses." "Then I will ride with you to Mendez; 'tis well to have the matter promptly over with." The wagon, rumbled on, Moore urging the wearied team with whip and voice to little result. Sikes remained on foot, glad of the change, striding along in front, while the Mexican rode beside the wheel, his equipment jingling, the sunlight flashing over his bright attire. He made a rather gallant figure, of which he was fully conscious, glancing frequently aside into the shadow beneath the canvas top to gain glimpse of its occupant. At last their eyes met, and he could no longer forbear speech, his English expression a bit precise. "Pardon, _senorita_, I would be held your friend," he murmured, leaning closer, "for it is ever a misfortune to incur the enmity of Senor Lacy. You will trust me?" "But," she ventured timidly, "I do not know you, _senor_; who you may be." "You know Senor Mendez?" She shook her head negatively.