Their flight had been too hurried to take any count of numbers.
There could be only one conclusion. Urrea had been taken in the patio.
The Ring Tailed Panther roared between his teeth, low but savagely.
"I don't like many Mexicans," he said, "but I got to like Don Francisco.
The Mexicans have shorely got him, an' it will go 'specially hard with
him, he bein' of their own race."
Ned sighed. He did not like to think of Don Francisco at the mercy of
Cos. But they could do nothing, absolutely nothing. To leave the hay
meant certain capture within a few minutes. Already they heard the
sounds of the hunt, the shouts of soldiers and the mob, of men calling
to one another. Through the chinks in the wall they saw the light of
torches in the alley. They lay still for a few minutes and then the
noise of the search drifted down toward the plazas. The torches passed
out of the alley.
"Did you hear that whistle just before Cos and Ugartchea fired?" asked
Ned.
"I did," replied Obed. "I don't understand it, and what I don't
understand bothers me."
The Ring Tailed Panther growled, and his growl was the most savage that
Ned had ever heard from him. The growl did not turn into words for at
least a minute. Then he said:
"I'm like you, Obed; I hate riddles, an' this is the worst one that I
was ever mixed up with.
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