him play his guitar," put in Jo, "and sing those
Mexican tunes. They certainly sound pretty."

"He's a picturesque beggar too," remarked Tom. "Just the kind that in
the old days would have been made a king's jester. They dressed 'em up
in a blazing bright style then. That hump would have made his fortune."

Tom, as you remember, was an authority on Romance, and as pertaining to
which he always carried two favorite volumes, much worn by hard travel
and frequent usage, but which no amount of ridicule by his brothers
could make him give up.

"Have it your own way," acceded Juarez, "but he is not the sort of
animal that I would recommend for a household pet."

"Well, he is gone," said Jim, "so we don't need to worry about him."

"I don't know but that I would a little rather have him in sight," said
Juarez. "Then you know where he is."

Jim laughed good-naturedly at the prejudice that Juarez showed against
the little greaser and put it down to his darkly suspicious nature
acquired by his life among the Indians. It would have been better if Jim
had taken more stock in his comrade's suspicions. Now, Jim was not to be
caught napping when once an enemy had declared himself, but it was his
nature to be open-minded and unsuspicious.

The four Frontier Boys were riding up a winding trail through a narrow
mountain valley, having reached a point almost level with the summits,
which rose several thousand feet above the eastern plain. It had been a
hard, all day climb, and the horses were tired and the gray dust was
caked upon their sweaty riders.

Let us take a look at our old acquaintances, Jim, Tom, Jo and Juarez, to
see if they have changed any since we saw them last. They are dressed
about as we have always known them. In gray flannel shirts and pants of
the same color, moccasins on their feet and on their heads battered
sombreros with the flaps turned back.

Their coats are tied back of the saddles, and their shirts open at the
throat for the air is hot and dry in that California mountain valley.
Their rifles are swung across their shoulders held by straps, revolvers
in the holsters at their hips.

Jim sits in the saddle tall and sinewy, grown somewhat thinner by
constant exercise and by the drying effect of the desert air. His skin
is baked to an absolute brown. Juarez, too, is black as an Indian and he
rather looks like one with his hair quite long and of a coarse black
fibre. The boys look a little fine-drawn but