They trudged another mile, often without finding the semblance of a trail.

Finally, they discovered what seemed to be a crude road leading in their general direction.
Ahead boulders loomed up.

They were getting into a rough part of the mountains.
As Tom plodded around a bend in the road, past a big rock, he heard a low laugh.
"Oblige me, senores, by showing me how high you can reach in the air!" came a mocking voice.
Tom and Harry had both stepped around into the plain range of vision of Pedro Gato.
That scoundrel stood with rifle butt to his shoulder, his glance running along the barrel.

The weapon covered them.
"Don't forget! Your hands, _caballeros_!" insisted Gato, jubilantly.
For a brief instant Tom Reade hesitated.

He was doing some lightning calculating as to whether he would be able to spring forward under the rifle barrel and knock up the weapon.
But a second glance showed him that he could not hope to do it.
Pedro Gato was completely master of the situation.
"For the third time--and the last, _caballeros_ your hands! Up high!" commanded Gato exultantly.
"Now, stand just so, until I get back of you," ordered Gato.
"Do not attempt any tricks, and do not turn to look back at me.
If you do I shall pull the trigger--once and again.