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They will hang you ingrato encatador!" Torres, with a hissing exclamation, sprang at her. "Ramoncito!" she shrieked; "once you loved me." The Mexican's arm raised and descended. "You are old," he cried; and she fell and lay motionless. Another scream; the flaps of the tent were flung aside, and there stood Katie, white with fear, her wrists still bound with a cruel cord.
The next instant, the bedecked caballero turned in his hands to a shrunken, leather-visaged, white-bearded, old, old, screaming mummy, sandalled, ragged, and four hundred and three. The Mexican woman was crawling to her feet, and laughing. She shook her brown hand in the face of the whining viejo. "Go, now," she cried, "and seek your señorita. It was I, Ramoncito, who brought you to this.
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