Lopez searched his face again. "Tell me you 'ave been in Canon Diabalo
sometime? 'Ave you?"
"Of course. What of it?" Gilbert was mystified.
"You were there one night, three, mebbe four year ago?" Lopez persisted,
hoping there could be no mistake.
"I don't remember," was the disappointing answer.
"You remember poor peon was wounded--near bleed to death?"
"What?" said Gilbert, light beginning to dawn upon him.
"You do!" shouted Lopez, delighted. "Where was 'e wounded? Quick! You
tell!"
"Shot through the shoulder," Gilbert answered promptly.
"It is you! Don't you know me?" He faced him squarely, threw back his
shoulders, and waited, breathless, for his look of recognition.
Gilbert studied his face. An instant of doubt, and then, "Why, you're
Pancho Lopez!" he said.
The bandit was overjoyed. "I am! But don't you recognize who is ze Pancho
Lopez what I am? Look close! Ze clothes, no! Ze face!"
"Good Lord!" was all Gilbert could utter.
"Now you know me?"
"You're the man I found wounded that night!"
"And whose life you save!" Lopez added.
"Well, what do you know about that!" young Jones shouted. He was as
surprised and happy as the bandit himself.
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