pt guard from the shadow of the mesquite bush. At last
the first man got up leisurely, took a flask from his pocket and
handed it to Tuttle with the request, "Drink hearty, pard." With a
little flourish and a kindly "Here's luck," he took a long pull
himself, then, telling Tuttle he could use his saddle for a pillow and
lie down near the fire, he picked up his shot-gun and sat down on the
wagon seat and the man who had stood beside the mesquite walked away
into the bushes.

"Now," said the man with the shot-gun, "you can sleep just as sound as
a baby in its cradle, for I'm going to watch here and see that the
coyotes don't bite you. You'll be safe," and the note of warning
filled his voice again, "as long as you don't make any breaks."

"I'm not a fool," responded Tuttle, stretching out on the ground and
resting his head against the saddle. Whenever he awoke during the
night he saw his guard keeping alert watch, gun in hand and revolver
by his side. Just before daybreak the other man returned and held
guard while the first watered and saddled Tuttle's horse and prepared
breakfast. The captive was dimly conscious of the change, and then
slept again until he was awakened at sunrise.

"I had a mind to wake you by shooting a button off your coat, just to
see if that would do the business," said his host, smiling pleasantly,
as he handed Tuttle the flask which had done duty the night before. "I
reckon you're about the soundest sleeper I ever saw."

By daylight Tuttle saw that the man was well along in middle life and
that his face was smoothly shaven. Tuttle himself looked to be less
than thirty years old. He was tall, broad of shoulder and big of
girth, with large hands and great, round, well-muscled wrists that
told of arms like limbs of oak and of legs like iron pillars.

The young man ate his breakfast alone, his captor standing near by and
talking pleasantly with him, but holding alertly a shot-gun at half
cock, while crouching behind a bunch of greasewood was the Mexican
with a drawn pistol in his hands. As Tuttle mounted, the tall man
called out sternly:

"Hold up your hands!"

Tuttle hesitated for a moment, looking at him in surprise.

"I mean it!" and the trigger of his shot-gun clicked to full cock.
Tuttle's hands went up quickly. The man came beside him and buckled on
his cartridge belt, with the revolver in its holster. Then he backed
to his own horse, mounted it, and leveled his shot-gun at Tuttle's
br