d a large rifle.

"By-by, my honey, I'm gone!" I sings to myself--never missin' a step,
however, for to let that Injun know I was on to him would be a sign of
bad luck. I wiggled around kind of careless to see if there was any
more of him. There was. Nine more. Here was Saunders Colorado and
Colin Hiccup Grunt, fortified by--say six, drops of Scotch whiskey, a
Scotch sword and a Scotch bagpipe, up against ten Tontos armed with
rifles. I would have traded my life interest in this world for an
imitation dead yaller dog. "Oh, they won't do a thing to us, thing to
us, thing to us!" sings I to myself, hoppin' around so gleefully,
keepin' time to the bagpipes. "Whoop her up, Colin!" I hollers. "On
with the dance, let joy be unconfined!" That was in my school reader,
so it ought to be true. My joy was unconfined all right enough--she'd
flew the coop long since.

[Illustration: "Whoop her up, Colin!" I hollers]

At that Colin really turned himself loose. He'd warmed to the occasion
and climbed into the spirit of the thing. His eyes was shut and he was
leaping five foot in the air at a pass, wagglin' his head from side to
side. And as for them bagpipes, he simply blew the mangled remains of
all the sounds since the flood out of the big end--he took silence by
her hind leg and flapped her into rags.

I pranced like a colt, wonderin' why we didn't get shot or something.
At last I couldn't stand feeling all them hard-coal eyes behind me, so
I whirls around as if I'd simply waited my time, and capered down that
line of Injuns, wavin' the sword over their heads, looking far away,
and smilin' the easy grin of the gentleman who pets the tiger in the
circus parade.

"Oh, Colin!" I chants, as if it was part of a war-song; "understand
English for once in your life and keep that squealer yelpin' or these
ham-coloured sons of Satan will play a tune on us--give it to 'em,
Colin, my b-o-o-y--let the good work go ah-ah-ah-ah-on!"

I reckon he made me out, for, after one sharp blat (I suppose when he
opened his eyes), the old bagpipes went on whining same as before.

I made two trips up and down the line, then flung the sword up in the
air and yelled: "Bastante!"

Come silence, like a fainting fit--the thickest, muckiest silence I
ever heard.

"Your house, amigos," I says. "In what way may we serve you?" I had
an idea of what way they would serve _us_---fried, likely, with a dish
of greens on the side--but I thought I'