"Have you too little courage to answer me?" Tom again essayed.

"Or are you man enough to show yourself--to come forward and listen to me. Don't be afraid. I can't hurt you. I have no weapon worse than my fists."

As the young chief engineer spoke in Spanish, Nicolas understood.

"Don't! Don't, _mi caballero_," implored the Mexican servant "Don't let him know that you are unarmed. Make a move as though to draw a pistol, and Gato may run away instead of sighting his rifle once more at you."

"Now I know you, Gato, for the wolfish coward that you are," Tom Reade shouted mockingly. "You are desperately afraid when you won't meet me, unarmed as I am."

"If Senor Reade is so utterly brave when he has no weapons," thought the barefooted servant, "then if he had a gun in his hand he would be the bravest man in all the world!"

"I guess that yellow dog isn't going to bark at us again, just now," laughed Tom, carelessly, when some moments had pa.s.sed without another shot. "Doubtless, the fellow was frightened away by the sound of his own rifle."

"That shot was a warning," chattered Nicolas. "It is his way of sending you his defiance. When Gato fires again he will try in earnest to kill you, and he will keep on firing until he succeeds.

Oh, _mi caballero_, if you will give me some more of your Americano money, I will hasten about until I find some one who will sell me a gun for you. You must have one in your hands all the time."

"Not for mine," smiled Reade. "To tell you the truth, Nicolas, guns sometimes make me nervous. If I had one I might be clumsy enough to shoot myself with it."

"Nicolas is talking sense," interrupted Hazelton, speaking in English. "Both you and I should be armed."

"By all means have Nicolas get a gun for you, Harry, if you will,"

Reade answered, coolly. "But none for me."

"I'd like to meet Gato face to face and on equal terms," Harry went on, dropping back into the Spanish tongue.

"So would I," agreed his chum. "I have much to say to Gato.

If there were mail boxes in this wild country I'd drop him a letter."

"Do you really wish to send Gato a letter?" asked Nicolas, eagerly.

"Why, I'd send him one if I could," nodded Tom.

"Have you writing materials?" pressed the servant.

"Yes--but what's the use?"

"Write your letter, _mi caballero_, and I will hand it to Gato,"

urged the Mexican.

"You?" gasped Tom.

"Certainly."

"But how?"

"I will hand the letter to him in person."

"You--go to Gato?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"Gato would kill you!"

"Kill a poor _peon_?" smiled Nicolas. "Oh, no; I am not worth while. I am not a fighting man."

"Do you mean to tell me," demanded Tom, astonished, "that you could go openly and safely to Gato?"

"a.s.suredly," declared Nicolas, composedly. "Gato would not harm me. I am one of his own people, a Mexican, and have not the courage to fight. So he would only disgrace himself in the eyes of his countrymen if he tried to do me harm."

"Is that the truth?" Reade persisted.

"Certainly, Senor Reade. If there were a priest here I would swear to it as the truth."

"And you have the courage to try to hand a note to Gato?"

"Under the circ.u.mstances it does not require courage, since I am safe," replied Nicolas, steadily and easily.

"Hanged if I don't think I will write a note to Pedro Gato!" chuckled Tom.

"Do so, _mi caballero_; at your convenience."

Tom tore a page out of a notebook, and with his fountain pen wrote the following note in Spanish:

"Pedro Gato: If you had half the courage of a rabbit you would not go skulking through the hills, shooting at me without giving me any chance to tell you or show you what I think of you. A shot has just struck near my head, yet no glimpse was to be had of the man who fired the shot. If you did that, then you are a coward of a low, mean type. If you do not feel like accepting my opinion of you, then will you meet me and explain your conduct as one real man talks with another? If you will not give me this explanation, and persist in trying to shoot at me, then I warn you that I will and must pummel you with my fists if I ever have the pleasure of meeting you face to face."

"Thomas Reade."

Harry glanced through the note and smiled. "That ought to scare the bold, bad man," said he.

"Read this, Nicolas, and see if you think the note will shame the scoundrel," laughed Tom.

"Pardon, _mi caballero_," objected Nicolas, "but I am no scholar.

I do not know how to read or write."

"Oh!" said Tom simply. "Then let me read it to you."

Tom repeated what he had written, then asking:

"Do you think, Nicolas, that it will be safe for you to take this to Pedro Gato?"

"a.s.suredly, senor."

"And you are sure you can find the scoundrel?"

"I think so, though it may take considerable time."

Nicolas took the note, holding it tight in his left hand. He was visible for a few steps, after which he dodged down behind a rock and was seen no more.

Moving stealthily over the hillsides, Nicolas spent a full hour in obtaining the first glimpse of Gato. That worthy was seated on the ground, smoking and chatting in low tones with his desperate-looking companions. Suddenly Pedro caught sight of the servant and started up. He beckoned, and Nicolas approached.