THE BAD MAN



Sunday afternoon, with brand-new reins and bit,
and in a suit that fit him to perfection, with gleam-
ing spurs and shining buttons, the rakish and
indomitable Pancho, his long-lost friend, returned
to greet him. He could scarcely believe it. For
since that memorable night when he had left them,
to return to the interior of Mexico, never a word
had he had from him. Meantime, the great happi-
ness had come to him; and when the baby came
into the world, he and Lucia had not forgotten the
man who had been responsible for their joy. With
one accord they named the boy Pancho. There
was not the slightest doubt but that should be
what he should be called. The only tragedy was
that they had no way of letting the bandit know
what they had done. Where was he They did
not know. When, if ever, would he return They
had no way of finding out. There was but one
thing to do-wait. And they did. But often
Gilbert had said to Lucia, "He has forgotten us,
though we have never forgotten him-our friend."
  Now, in the quiet, brooding autumn dusk he
came to their doorstep, dismounted, lifted his hat,
smiled that wonderful smile of his, and made a bow
that any courtier might have been proud to make.
Behind him, on a brown horse, was Pedro, his



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