tmas. Also, I
was part of your bodyguard when them greasers were trying to tickle you
in the ribs with their knives in that dark alley. Shake, old-timer! You
done yourself proud, and I'm glad to know yuh!"

Miguel, for the first time in two weeks, permitted himself the luxury
of an expressive countenance. He gave Andy Green one quick, grateful
look--and a smile, the like of which made the Happy Family quiver
inwardly with instinctive sympathy.

"So you were there, too, eh?" Miguel exclaimed softly, and rose to greet
him. "And that scrap in the alley--we sure had a hell of a time there
for a few minutes, didn't we? Are you that tall fellow who kicked that
squint-eyed greaser in the stomach? Muchos gracios, senor! They were
piling on me three deep, right then, and I always believed they'd have
got me, only for a tall vaquero I couldn't locate afterward." He smiled
again that wonderful smile, which lighted the darkness of his eyes as
with a flame, and murmured a sentence or two in Spanish.

"Did you get the spurs me and my friends sent you afterward?" asked Andy
eagerly. "We heard about the Arizona boys giving you the saddle--and we
raked high and low for them spurs. And, by gracious, they were beauts,
too--did yuh get 'em?"

"I wear them every day I ride," answered Miguel, a peculiar, caressing
note in his voice.

"I didn't know--we heard you had disappeared off the earth. Why--"

Miguel laughed outright. "To fight a bull with bare hands is one thing,
amigo," he said. "To take a chance on getting a knife stuck in your
back is another. Those Mexicans--they don't love the man who crosses the
river and makes of their bull-fights a plaything."

"That's right; only I thought, you being a--"

"Not a Mexican." Miguel's voice sharpened a trifle. "My father was
Spanish, yes. My mother"--his eyes flashed briefly at the faces of the
gaping Happy Family--"my mother was born in Ireland."

"And that sure makes a hard combination to beat," cried Andy heartily.
He looked at the others--at all, that is, save Pink and Irish, who had
disappeared. "Well, boys, I never thought I'd come home and find--"

"Miguel Rapponi," supplied the Native Son quickly. "As well forget that
other name. And," he added with the shrug which the Happy Family had
come to hate, "as well forget the story, also. I am not hungry for the
feel of a knife in my back." He smiled again engagingly at Andy Green.
It was astonishing how readily that smile had sprun