in his hand, as if waiting for Barrett to acquaint himself with the contents of the first before other matters might come between him and it for even a moment. Barrett stood with reins over his arm, his horse familiarly nosing his shoulder, and opened the letter.
Mr. Barrett:
Come to the ranch at once—I must see you on a matter of the first importance.
Barrett read it again to certify to his surprised senses that he had made no mistake. There was something in the old Mexican's eyes when he looked up that interrogated him. He nodded; the old man offered the remaining letters.
"Give me your horse, kid; I'll skin the saddle off while you read your mail," said Fred.
"Thanks, old feller, but never mind. I'll leave him saddled, I'll be needin' him right after dinner."
Manuel drew a step nearer as Fred went off with his own animal.
"The man with one thumb, señor. He has come to kill you." Manuel whispered this amazing information, at once walking away, his face as innocent of any sectet as a brown and wrinkled leaf.
