idly through his
head. Alas, the shakedown consisted of a small hard mattress and a couple
of blankets, army blankets at that. Anyone who can make a rope ladder of
army blankets, with nothing more solid to fasten them to than a rickety
old desk, must be cleverer than even Juan Pachuca considered himself.

With a sigh of surrender he returned to the window. It was the only way;
broken bones or no broken bones, it must be attempted. If he were unlucky
enough to meet with disaster, he must crawl as far as the car, and once in
the car he defied anyone, white, brown or black to stop him. If only they
had left him his gun!

Carefully Pachuca balanced himself once more on the window and swung
himself out, still clinging to the sill. The drop looked easier than it
had before; he felt almost cheerful about it. Give him five minutes alone
in the moonlight and he would have his liberty, his car and his triumph
over Gringo carelessness. At the same moment, there arose out of the
stillness the loud and penetrating bark of an aroused dog.

Yellow, who slept anywhere, being a tramp dog by nature, had elected to
pass the night outside Scott's window, and the cabin in which Scott was
sleeping was across the street and only a few feet away from the window
from which Pachuca was trying to escape. Not content with barking, the
interfering Yellow started on a gallop for the peculiar looking person
hanging out of the window. Almost instantly, a light flashed in Scott's
room and a head was thrust out of the window.

With an exasperated groan Pachuca drew himself back again and waited.
Scott's head was withdrawn, and two seconds later, Scott, himself, clad in
pajamas and a bathrobe, dashed out of the cabin and was met by another
figure which seemed to spring from nowhere. Pachuca thought the second
figure looked like Miller, the man who had brought his blankets, but he
was not sure. By this time the dog had stopped barking and was following
the two men. Pachuca stood in the window, waiting developments. Scott
looked up with evident relief.

"You're there, are you?" he said.

"So it appears," disgustedly. "Am I a cat to scramble out of a window?"

"Well, Yellow was barking at something," replied Scott, with a grin.
"Might have been a plain, four-footed one, and it might have been a human
puss. If you don't mind, I reckon I'll tie him to the front door down
here. He's rough on cats."

"Suit yourself, _amigo_, I'm going to sleep," was the