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“Hey, Red!” cried Hopalong, pointing ahead of them. “Look there! Ain’t that a house?”

“Naw; course not! It’s a–it’s a ship!” Red snorted sarcastically. “What did you think it might be?”

“G’wan!” retorted his companion. “It’s a mission.”

“Ah, g’wan yorself! What’s a mission doing up here?” Red snapped.

“What do you think they do? What do they do anywhere?” hotly rejoined Hopalong, thinking about Johnny. “There! See th’ cross?”

“Shore enough!”

“An’ there’s tracks at last–mighty wobbly, but tracks just th’ same. Them rocks couldn’t go on forever. Red, I’ll bet he’s cashed in by this time.”

“Cashed nothing! Them fellers don’t.”

“Well, if he’s in that joint we might as well go back home. We won’t get him, not nohow,” declared Hopalong.

“Huh! You wait an’ see!” replied Red, pugnaciously.

“Reckon you never run up agin’ a mission real hard,” Hopalong responded, his memory harking back to the time he had disagreed with a convent, and they both meant about the same to him as far as winning out was concerned.

“Think I’m a fool kid?” snapped Red, aggressively.

“Well, you ain’t no kid.”

“You let me do th’ talking; I’ll get him.”

“All right; an’ I’ll do th’ laughing,” snickered Hopalong, at the door. “Sic ’em, Red!”

The other boldly stepped into a small vestibule, Hopalong close at his heels. Red hitched his holster and walked heavily into a room at his left. With the exception of a bench, a table, and a small altar, the room was devoid of furnishings, and the effect of these was lost in the dim light from the narrow windows. The peculiar, not unpleasant odor of burning incense and the dim light awakened a latent reverence and awe in Hopalong, and he sneaked off his sombrero, an inexplicable feeling of guilt stealing over him. There were three doors in the walls, deeply shrouded in the dusk of the room, and it was very hard to watch all three at once. . . .

Red listened intently and then grinned. “Hear that? They’re playing dominoes in there–come on!”

“Aw, you chump! ‘Dominee’ means ‘mother’ in Latin, which is what they speaks.”

“How do you know?”

“Hanged if I can tell–I’ve heard it somewhere, that’s all.”

“Well, I don’t care what it means. This is a frame-up so that coyote can get away. I’ll bet they gave him a cayuse an’ started him off while we’ve been losing time in here. I’m going inside an’ ask some questions.”

Before he could put his plan into execution, Hopalong nudged him and he turned to see his friend staring at one of the doors. There had been no sound, but he would swear that a monk stood gravely regarding them, and he rubbed his eyes. He stepped back suspiciously and then started forward again.

“Look here, stranger,” he remarked, with quiet emphasis, “we’re after that cow-lifter, an’ we mean to get him. Savvy?”

The monk did not appear to hear him, so he tried another trick. “Habla espanola?” he asked, experimentally.

“You have ridden far?” replied the monk in perfect English.

“All th’ way from th’ Bend,” Red replied, relieved. “We’re after Jerry Brown. He tried to kill Johnny, judgin’ from th’ tracks.”

“And if you capture him?”

“He won’t have no more use for no side pocket shooting.”

“I see; you will kill him.”

“Shore’s it’s wet outside.”

“I’m afraid you are doomed to disappointment.”

“Ya-as?” asked Red with a rising inflection.

“You will not want him now,” replied the monk.

Red laughed sarcastically and Hopalong smiled.

“There ain’t a-going to be no argument about it. Trot him out,” ordered Red, grimly.

The monk turned to Hopalong. “Do you, too, want him?”

Hopalong nodded.

“My friends, he is safe from your punishment.”

Red wheeled instantly and ran outside, returning in a few moments, smiling triumphantly. “There are tracks coming in, but there ain’t none going away. He’s here. If you don’t lead us to him we’ll shore have to rummage around an’ poke him out for ourselves: which is it?”

“You are right–he is here, and he is not here.”

“We’re waiting,” Red replied, grinning.