ried him back to the
ranch-house, propped him up in a chair, and despatched Uncle Jake for
a doctor. Before midnight we learned what little there was to know.
Mary had been chased by the Coon Dogs. He, of course, was a-foot; the
cowboys were mounted. A couple of barbed-wire fences had saved him
from capture. We had listened, that afternoon, too coolly, perhaps, to
a tale of many outrages, but the horror and infamy of them were not
brought home to us till we saw Mary, tattered scarred, bedraggled,
lying crumpled up against the gay chintz of the arm-chair. The poor
fellow kept muttering: "Coon Dogs come. I know. Killee you, killee me.
Heap bad men!"

Next morning Uncle Jake and the doctor rode up.

"I can do nothing," said the latter, presently. "It's a case of shock.
He may get over it; he may not. Another shock would kill him. I'll
leave some medicine."

Upon further consultation we put Mary into Ajax's bed. The Chinaman's
bunk-house was isolated, and the vaqueroes slept near the horse
corral, a couple of hundred yards away. Mary feebly protested: "No
likee. Coon Dogs--allee same debils--killee you, killee me. Heap bad
men!"

We tried to assure him that the Coon Dogs were at heart rank curs.
Mary shook his head: "I know. You see."

The day passed. Night set in. About ten, Mary said, convincingly--

"Coon Dogs coming! Coon Dogs coming!"

"No, no," said Ajax.

I slipped out of the house. From the marsh beyond the creek came the
familiar croaking of the frogs; from the foothills in the cow-pasture
came the shrilling of the crickets. A coyote was yapping far down the
valley.

"It's all right, Mary," said I.

"Boss, Coon Dogs come, velly quick. I know."

Did he really know? What subtle instinct warned him of the approach of
danger? Who can answer such questions? It is a fact that the Coon Dogs
were on the road to our ranch, and that they arrived just one hour
later. We heard them yelling and shouting at the big gate. Then the
popping of pistols told us that the sign, clearly to be seen in the
moonlight, was being riddled with bullets.

"We must face the music," said Ajax grimly. "Come on!"

Mary lay back on the pillow, senseless. Passing through the sitting-
room, I reminded Ajax that my duck-gun, an eight-bore, could carry two
ounces of buck-shot about one hundred yards.

"We mustn't fight 'em with their own weapons," he answered curtly.

The popping ceased suddenly; silence succeeded.

"They're having