“It’s Don Rafael! It’s Don Rafael!” shouted Pedro. “Don’t let him escape!”
He sprang after the fleeing figure, closely followed by Billie and Adrian, while Donald bent over the prostrate Santiago, examining his wound by the light of his electric.
A moment later there was a shot from without, but, while Donald still bent over Santiago, trying to stop the flow of blood from a wound in his shoulder, the others came back.
“I didn’t even wing him,” was Billie’s crestfallen reply. “He must bear a charmed life. But I’ll get him yet, if I have to stay in Mexico all summer!”
Santiago raised his eyes, and a fierce smile played upon his lips, as he fixed his gaze upon Billie.
“Sure, if that will do you any good!” replied Billie lightly.
“Look out!” exclaimed Adrian. “That may mean more than you think!”
“I don’t care what it means,” declared Billie; “I’ve given my word, and I’ll stick to it!”
Santiago reached out and took him feebly by the hand. “You will never regret it,” he said. “When you have made your promise good, come back to me for your reward.”
And then the strange man swooned in Donald’s arms.
Several days have elapsed, days filled with anxiety over the fate of Santiago, and once more the boys find themselves in the saddle, headed for the Rio Grande.
“It sure does seem good to feel your pony between your knees,” exclaimed Donald, after they had galloped along a couple of miles at a lively rate, the horses themselves setting the pace after their days of rest.
“That it does,” replied Billie, “especially when your mind is at ease. I shouldn’t be enjoying myself at all, were I not sure that Santiago was on the road to recovery. That certainly was a nasty cut. I hope this trail will lead us to where we want to go.”
“I can see no reason why it should not,” declared Adrian. “It is as plain as the nose on your face.”
“And that’s pretty plain in your case,” laughed Donald, for it was a well-known fact that Adrian’s nose was his most prominent feature.
“I wish I could see it that way,” insisted Billie. “It looks to me as though this were a good deal of a wild goose chase.”
“I don’t see how you figure it,” retorted Adrian, and he put his hand into his inside pocket and took therefrom a piece of paper. “Here is the address as plain as can be: 'Rafael Solis, Presidio del Norte, care Señor Pancho Villa.’ What more do you want?”