in a minute. One of the men who held the lad brought his face close to his, and said:

"You go home! We have nothing to do with you. Take your machine and go."

Tim glanced at the gobernador, who lay motionless in the hands of his captors, mingling protests, threats, and offers of money. The brigand cursed, and declared that the boy had better take his chance of escaping before they changed their mind. It was clear that nothing could be done for the gobernador; the brigands had him at their mercy; and Tim considered that there was nothing to be gained by remaining. Indeed, it must be confessed that he was a good deal afraid of these ferocious-looking fellows, and desired nothing better than to escape from their clutches. So he caught the handle-bar, ran a few feet with his bicycle, then sprang to the saddle, and in a few seconds was riding at full speed along the road.

At first he was conscious of nothing but relief and joy at his own lucky escape. But he had not ridden far before he began to think of the gobernador. His conscience pricked him. He felt like a deserter. He owed nothing, it was true, to Señor Fagasta, who, while genial enough in private life, had always struck Tim as a ridiculous, pompous kind of person in his public capacity. But it seemed rather mean to ride away and leave the magistrate to his fate. There was not time to reach the town and bring back help; he could not himself do anything for the gobernador; and he began to wonder what the brigands would do with him. Perhaps they would rob him of what valuables he had, and let him go. Surely they would not hurt him! But when Tim remembered stories of the lengths to which these outlaws sometimes went he grew more and more uneasy.

After a few minutes he slowed down, considered for a little, then dismounted and pushed his bicycle into a thick clump of bushes, where it was well hidden. He durst not ride back, for though his machine was furnished with a silencer, it did not run so quietly as not to be heard. He had made up his mind to retrace his path on foot, and see for himself what had happened. It was a long tramp uphill in the heat, and it took him nearly an hour to walk the distance which on the cycle he had covered in six or seven minutes. Fortunately the track wound so frequently that he ran no risk of being seen by the brigands.

As he approached the spot, he moved slowly and warily, peeping from behind bushes along straight stretches of the track, and glancing up into the hills to right and left. On reaching the scene of the capture he found that it was deserted. Nobody was in sight. He looked this way and that, and stooped to the ground to see if he could discover by their footmarks the direction in which the brigands had gone. But the ground was hard; he could scarcely discern the tracks of his own tyres. A trained scout might perhaps have noticed some slight indication, but Tim had had no such training.

"They've hauled him away," he thought, and there flashed into his mind recollections of fairy stories, in which ogres had carried human beings to their dens to make a meal of them. Tim had a vivid imagination.

He was on the point of returning when a sudden loud buzzing struck his ear. He listened: it was like the sound made by swarms of insects in the forest. And yet it was different--hoarser, less musical. Somehow it reminded Tim of the gobernador's speeches on great occasions in the plaza, He left the path, still on his guard, and scouted to the right among the trees, from which the humming seemed to come. And guiding himself by the sound, he presently started back when he saw Señor Fagasta himself, bound upright to a trunk, bare-headed, his mouth gagged.

The humming became very violent when Tim appeared. He noticed that the gobernador had managed to shift the gag a little. None of the brigands being in sight, he ran to the tree, removed the gag altogether, slit the cords about the señor's limbs, and was immediately embarrassed by two stout arms flung around him, and two hot lips pressing kisses on one cheek after the other.

"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed, wriggling. "Steady on, señor."

"Ah, my dear friend! My preserver! my deliverer!" Here there was another hug, but Tim evaded the kiss. "Tell me!" whispered the gobernador, "have those wretches gone away?"

"Indeed they have," said Tim. "You had better come away too."

"But they have taken my mule! I am not accustomed to walking. I shall faint: I shall be seized with apoplexy."

"I have left my cycle two or three miles away, señor. If you can manage to walk to that you can mount behind me, and we'll be home in no time."

"Yes, I will do so. Assist me with your arm. I am on thorns until I am on the machine; till then I am not safe. Hasten, my son. I have not walked a mile for twenty years, though in my youth--but no matter: I will do my best."

They set off, Tim linking arms with the gobernador, who marched down the track with the rolling gait of a sailor. Every now and then he stopped to rest and recover breath, and as at these moments he showed signs of repeating his embraces, Tim edged away until he was ready to start again.

"Ah, my preserver!" said the gobernador once, "you have laid a debt upon me which a lifetime of gratitude will not liquidate."

"Indeed it's nothing at all," said Tim. "You would have done the same for me."

"That is true; I certainly would; the blood of a long line of hidalgos runs in my veins. In Spain I might call myself Don José de Fagasta; in republics, alas! there is no aristocracy. But hasten, my son; I am not safe until I reach the machine."

Tim thought from the gobernador's manner that the current of noble blood must by this time have become a pretty thin trickle. But he kept that reflection to himself.

Señor Fagasta mounted behind Tim, proclaiming himself safe. But the rapid motion of the cycle down the steep and rugged track filled him with alarms of another kind. In vain he implored Tim to drive more slowly the boy replied that he would not be secure until he reached the town, and terrified him with apprehension of sunstroke. It must be confessed that the spirit of mischief was now fully awake in Tim. Every sigh, every ejaculation of the stout gentleman behind him gave him a thrill of joy. As they approached the town the gobernador, mindful of his dignity, begged Tim to stop and let him finish the journey on foot. But Tim could not resist the temptation to career through the street and set the magistrate down at his own door; he relished the idea of the wonder and excitement he would create.

"It's hardly worth while to set you down now, señor," he said. "You'll be home in less than a minute. Hold tight!"

As Señor Fagasta entered his house, he turned to Tim.

"My son," he said in a confidential tone, "no doubt you will be asked to explain this strange occurrence. Do not reveal the cause. I do not command you as gobernador of this town; I ask as one gentleman of another."

"I must tell my father, señor," said Tim.

"Certainly; your father's discretion is perfect. Not a word to any one else, then?"

"Very well, señor. But won't people ask you too?"

"Undoubtedly. The doings of their magistrate are intensely interesting to the citizens