Frank, we repeat, was obliged to come over to his cousin’s way of thinking before he was many hours older; but now he believed his own opinions to be correct, and showed his contempt for Archie’s by settling back into an arm-chair, and becoming deeply interested in a book which he selected from among the numerous volumes on the center-table. Archie, being left to himself, walked restlessly about the room, looking at the pictures, gazing out at the port-holes, examining the weapons that hung on the walls, and so interested was he in his investigations, that his good-breeding alone restrained him from peering into closets and wardrobes. He kept up an incessant talking, but Frank’s answers were given only in monosyllables, and Archie finally became disgusted, and left him to read in peace. “You will turn into a book one of these fine days,” said he. “But I’ll tell you what it is, old fellow, you’ll not take things so very easily much longer.”

Archie continued his walk about the room, passing his hands over the walls, looking under the bed, and behind tables and sofas, as if searching for something that he was in a great hurry to find, and the last his cousin saw of him he was standing with his hands behind his back, and his head turned on one side, closely examining a large oil-painting which extended from the ceiling to the floor. The next time Frank looked up, he was alone in the room—Archie had disappeared.

“What trick are you up to now?” exclaimed Frank, laying down his book. “Come out from under that bed. What would you have to say for yourself if the Don should come in and find you there?”

But Archie was not under the bed, nor was he anywhere in the room. Frank called him, but there was no answer. He looked into every nook and corner of the apartment in which it was possible that Archie could have concealed himself, and then he caught up his hat and hurried through the hall, looking into all the rooms he passed, and out into the court. The rancho seemed to be deserted, with the exception of a solitary Mexican, who stood leaning against a door-post on the opposite side of the court. This man scowled fiercely, and looked suspiciously at him as he came up; and instead of making inquiries about Archie, as he had intended, Frank thrust his hands into his pockets, and strolled slowly toward the stables, peering in at the doors and windows, and keeping one eye on the Mexican, who closely watched every move he made.

“Archie hasn’t had time to get far away,” thought Frank; “and no doubt he is roaming about the rancho, searching high and low for some evidence to confirm his ridiculous suspicions concerning Don Carlos; and that is something he won’t find, of course. That is a villainous-looking fellow,” he added, with another glance over his shoulder toward the Mexican, “and I should feel quite as well pleased if he would take less interest in my movements. He acts as though he had been stationed there to watch me.”

Frank finally found his way to the stables, but without discovering any signs of the missing Archie. He found his horse there, and his cousin’s, standing quietly in their stalls; and he also saw several other fine animals, which the Don had doubtless brought in there for protection from the horse-thieves. Frank did not think it very probable that he would lose any more of his stock, for the most expert robber would have found it a difficult task to effect an entrance through those well-secured doors; and, more than that, Frank noticed that there were several beds in a small room adjoining the stable, and the garments, lassos, weapons, and other articles that were scattered about, showed that the apartment belonged to some of the Don’s Rancheros. The old Spaniard was not out on the rancho with his herdsmen, as Frank had supposed, but he was in this room, holding an earnest conversation with some one who disappeared very suddenly and mysteriously when Frank thrust his head in at the door. The latter thought, by his actions, that the old Spaniard would rather not have been discovered; but he greeted his guest very cordially, and seeing that he was alone, made hurried inquiries for Archie.

“He is out somewhere looking around, I suppose,” answered Frank. “No doubt he will turn up all right in a few minutes.”

“Ah, yes,” said the Don, with some anxiety in his tone; “but I would like to know vare he ish. Peppo! you von grand rascal!”

The young Mexican was on hand immediately. He came out of a dark corner of the stable, to which he had retreated when Frank came in, and where he had stood watching him.

“Peppo!” continued his employer, “it’s petter you go find dis leetle poys, and tell him we will have some suppers now.”

There was nothing in the old Spaniard’s words or manner to indicate that haste was desirable, but Beppo, perhaps, seeing or hearing something that escaped Frank’s notice, started off on a keen run. This seemed to be a signal to the Mexican who stood leaning against the door-post, for he walked rapidly across the court, and presently half a dozen Rancheros appeared and hurried about in different directions, all searching for Archie. The Don watched their movements, and so did Frank. The former was evidently growing uneasy, and his guest certainly was. The Spaniard stepped nervously about, talking hurriedly in his broken English on indifferent matters, and laughing uproariously at his own jokes; and Frank glanced toward the gate-way as if he had half a mind to take to his heels. He believed, now, that it would have been much better for him if he had kept at a respectful distance from Don Carlos and his rancho. A dread of impending evil, which he could not shake off, began to press upon him; and it was plain to him that if he was not in a scrape already, he soon would be. It is true that nothing had been said to induce this belief, but he had seen and felt enough to satisfy him that such was the fact. In the first place, it seemed to him that an air of mystery brooded over the rancho, and that the Don, in spite of his cordial greeting and jovial manner, was trying to conceal something from him. He acted, now, as though he did not want him there. And then, the sudden appearance of those men was another thing that troubled Frank. Until within a moment he had seen but two persons on the rancho besides the Spaniard, but, at an instant’s warning, half a dozen herdsmen had sprung into view, and to save his life he could not tell where they had come from. They appeared at the same moment, and in different directions, as if they had come up out of the ground, or found their way into the court through secret trap-doors in the pavement. Why had they remained concealed? and what was the reason that Archie’s disappearance had created such a commotion among them? Frank judged from the old Spaniard’s words that he was particularly anxious to know where Archie was, and what he was doing; and this implied that there were things about the rancho that the Don did not want him to see.

Frank’s uneasiness increased as the search progressed, and finally he became thoroughly frightened when he noticed the excited looks of the Rancheros as they hurried past him, and heard the angry, threatening words which they exchanged with one another. The Don began to be alarmed also.

“Vell! vell!” he exclaimed, looking back into the stable for the twentieth time, to assure himself that Archie’s horse was still there, “vare ish dis leetle poys?”

“He may have gone out,” replied Frank, with as much indifference as he could command. “I’ll step to the gate and look for him.” “And when I get there,” he added, mentally, “I won’t stop. I’ll show you Greasers some running that will make you wonder. You may be all right in here, but I don’t like your company.”

Frank had great confidence in himself, and he was certain that if he could only get half way to the gate, he could elude any attempts that might be made to detain him. He had not the remotest idea, however, that any such attempts would be made. That would be a heinous offense in the eyes of the settlers, who would never allow it to pass unnoticed. Frank turned to leave the Don, but the latter stepped forward and laid a heavy hand on his arm. “I guess it’s petter you don’t go,” said he.

Frank was thunderstruck. The old Spaniard’s tone and manner showed him that he was in earnest, and he knew now that Archie’s suspicions were correct, and that he himself had been sadly mistaken in the opinions he had formed regarding his host. If he had been allowed his choice in the matter, he would much rather have been standing in front of that log, awaiting the onset of another Old Davy. He would have felt more certain of escape than he did now, surrounded as he was by those villainous Mexicans. A wonderful change had come over Don Carlos. His jovial, good-natured smile had given way to a terrible scowl, and his face was pale with rage or fear; Frank could not tell which. With the next words he uttered, he threw off the mask entirely, and appeared in his true character.

“This is von grand shwindle,” he exclaimed, making a sudden effort to seize Frank by the collar. “I know now why you come here to mine house. Hi, Bedro! make dat gate shut. It’s petter you don’t go, leetle poys.”

“It is better I do go,” replied Frank, quickly. “I want you to understand that it will take a man with more muscle than you have got to detain me.”

During the next two minutes the Don learned more of the qualities that go to make up a sixteen-year-old Young America, than he had ever known before. Frank was as quick as a cat in his movements, and he knew that if he hoped to escape from the rancho now was his time or never. Pedro was already hurrying toward the gate, to execute the commands of his employer, and if that gate was once closed on him, he was a prisoner. While the Old Spaniard was speaking, he thrust out his arm; but his fingers, instead of fastening upon Frank’s collar, closed only upon the empty air. An instant afterward the boy was half way across the court, and he and Pedro were having a lively race for the gate; while the Don stood watching them, his body bent forward, and his mouth and eyes open to their widest extent. He could not understand how Frank had escaped. The ease with which he had slipped out of his clutches bewildered him. But his inactivity did not long continue, for he speedily became aware that the clumsy Pedro was no match, in a hurried, off-hand foot-race, for the nimble young hunter.

“Hi! hi!” he yelled, stamping his foot frantically on the pavement; “catch him! catch him! Vat you making dere, Bedro? Von dousand tollars to de mans vot catches dat leetle poys! Two! dree! five dousand!” he added, in a still louder tone, seeing that Frank was rapidly leaving Pedro behind, and nearing the gate. “Ach! mine heavens! Ten dousand!”

The fugitive heard every word he said, and his wonder, astonishment, and alarm increased proportionately with the rewards the Spaniard offered for his capture; and how intense must have been his amazement and terror when he heard the Don declare in frantic tones that he would give twenty, forty, and finally, fifty thousand dollars, if he was captured alive and unharmed.

“It is some consolation to know that he doesn’t mean to kill me,” thought Frank. “I don’t intend to let him take me prisoner, either. The offer of every cent he is worth, could not make those awkward Mexicans run fast enough to beat me in a fair race.”

If Frank had run swiftly before, his headway was fairly astonishing now. He exerted himself to the utmost, and flew over the ground at a rate of speed that the fleet-footed Dick Lewis himself would not have been ashamed of. A few leaps brought him to the gate, through which he went like an arrow from a bow, and bent his steps toward the nearest patch of woods, which was about a quarter of a mile distant. The Rancheros followed him, but they might as well have tried to overtake a railway train, or a bird on the wing.

Don Carlos was almost beside himself. He stood in the gate-way gazing after the fugitive, flourishing his arms wildly about his head, shouting orders to his men in Spanish and English, and calling upon Frank to stop and surrender himself a prisoner, or he would do something terrible to him.

“I think it would be a good plan to catch me first,” said Frank, to himself, looking back at his pursuers. “I am like Dick Lewis now: my enemies are all behind me, and I know I am safe. Hallo! What’s that?”

It was a bullet, which whistled through the air most uncomfortably near his head. Another followed close after, and plowed up the ground in front of him, and then came the crack of two rifles in quick succession. Frank felt the cold chills creeping all over him; and the next time he looked back he discovered several men, whom he had not seen before, hurrying out of the rancho with their weapons in their hands, followed by three on horseback. This was a most discouraging prospect. He did not stand in much fear of the bullets (although it was by no means pleasant to hear them whistling around him), but he was afraid of those mounted men. He could not hope to distance them, and he trembled when he thought of the fate in store for him when they came near enough to reach him with their lassos. If they did not choke him to death, they would take him back to the rancho a prisoner, and that would be almost as bad. Of course he did not intend that they should do either if he could prevent it. He was armed, and if they succeeded in overtaking him, he would show them how he could use a revolver.

Frank had accomplished more than half the distance that lay between him and the woods before the horsemen came out; and he hoped to be able to reach its friendly shelter before they could come up with him. He did it, too, although his escape was a very narrow one. As he dashed into the bushes he heard the lassos whistling through the air behind him, and he even felt the “wind” of one as it flew past his ear. But once fairly in the woods he was safe from those dreaded weapons. The Rancheros could not use their lariats among the trees, and neither did they attempt to follow him farther. They fired their pistols at him, and then began circling around the woods to cut him off from the creek, and place themselves between him and his home.

Frank kept straight on into the woods for at least two miles, without once slackening his speed, and then turned and ran toward the creek. When he came within sight of it, he sat down on a log to recover his breath, and to listen for the sounds of pursuit.

“I thank my lucky stars that they are all Mexicans,” panted he, glancing suspiciously through the bushes on all sides of him. “If there had been a few such rifle-shots among them as Dick Lewis and old Bob Kelly I should not be here now. Fifty thousand dollars! I little dreamed that I should ever have a price set upon my head.”

For ten minutes Frank sat on the log, resting after his long run, and thinking over the incidents that had transpired at the rancho. He believed now that Don Carlos was one of the robbers; the evidence against him was strong enough to satisfy any one of his guilt. The air of mystery with which every thing was conducted; the unusual number of men on the rancho; the magical manner in which they had appeared the instant their services were needed; the Spaniard’s unreasonable alarm at Archie’s absence; and his attempts to detain Frank—all these things were against him. Frank understood now what the Don meant when he said that he knew why the boys had come there. He probably mistrusted that the settlers were suspicious of him, and had sent Frank and Archie to his rancho to spy out something. If that was his idea, Frank thought it a very ridiculous one; for he might have known that two boys would not have been selected to carry out so dangerous an enterprise, while there were such men as Dick and Bob in the country. His guilty conscience made him betray himself—that was the secret of the matter.

Frank was not yet safe by any means. He knew that Don Carlos and his men would leave no stone unturned to effect his capture—it would be dangerous to them to allow him to go home after what had transpired at the rancho—and that they would search every nook and corner of the mountains, and hunt him down as they would a wolf. Still he had no fears for his own safety; but, now that the excitement of the race was over, he was deeply concerned about his cousin. There was a mystery attending his disappearance that he could not fathom. He hoped that Archie had left the room while he was reading, and that he had slipped out of the rancho and gone home. That was not much like his cousin’s way of doing business, but it was the only reasonable way in which he could explain his absence.

“That boy could not long exist without getting into some sort of a scrape,” said Frank; “and if I ever put eyes on him again, I’ll watch him more closely than I have done heretofore.”

“Stand where you are; don’t move hand or foot,” said a gruff voice, breaking in upon his reverie.

Frank sprang up, and found himself face to face with a Ranchero, who stood holding his rifle to his shoulder, with his finger resting on the trigger.