He headed, himself, the last departing band of
the invaders. The roads were safe to all. No trace of treasures
of Joaquin was found. Great was the murmuring of the rangers. Were
these hoards concealed on the rancho? Search availed nothing.
Valois spurs down the road. Lagunitas! He breathes freer, now that
the avengers are balked, at Lagunitas. They would even sack the
rancho. Camping twenty miles away, Maxime dreams of his Southern
home, as the stars sweep westward.
In the morning, a rough hand rouses him. It is the sentinel.
"Captain, wake up!"
He springs to his feet. "What is it?" he cries.
"Half the men are gone, sir. They have stolen back to hang the old
Spaniard. They think he has concealed Joaquin's treasures."
Valois rouses several tired friends.
"My horse!" he yells.
As he springs to the saddle, the sentinel tells him a friend
disclosed the plot. Fear kept him silent till the mutineers stole
away.
"There are yet two hours to day. Is there time?" Maxime stretches
out in the gallop of a skilled plainsman. He must save the priest
and the women at least.
The mutineers will wait till daylight for their swoop. They are
mad with the thirst for the lost treasures of Joaquin.
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