give 'em back,"
repeated Jones. "I seen y'u lift 'em from under that chair when I was in
the corner."

"That's straight, Mr. Adams," said Ephraim. "I noticed it myself, though
I had no objections, of course. But Mr. Jones has pointed out--"

"Since when have you growed so honest, Jones?" cackled Mr. Adams, seeing
that he must lose his little booty. "And why didn't you raise yer
objections when you seen me do it?"

"I didn't know the kid," Jones explained. "And if it don't strike you
that game blood deserves respect, why it does strike me."

[Illustration: CUMNOR'S AWAKENING]

Hearing this, the tenderfoot, outside in his shed, thought better of
mankind and life in general, arose from his nest, and began preening
himself. He had all the correct trappings for the frontier, and his
toilet in the shed gave him pleasure. The sun came up, and with a
stroke struck the world to crystal. The near sand-hills went into
rose, the crabbed yucca and the mesquite turned transparent, with
lances and pale films of green, like drapery graciously veiling the
desert's face, and distant violet peaks and edges framed the vast
enchantment beneath the liquid exhalations of the sky. The smell of
bacon and coffee from open windows filled the heart with bravery and
yearning, and Ephraim, putting his head round the corner, called to
Cumnor that he had better come in and eat. Jones, already at table,
gave him the briefest nod; but the spurs were there, replaced as
Cumnor had left them under a chair in the corner. In Arizona they do
not say much at any meal, and at breakfast nothing at all; and as
Cumnor swallowed and meditated, he noticed the cream-colored lady and
the chain, and he made up his mind he should assert his identity with
regard to that business, though how and when was not clear to him. He
was in no great haste to take up his journey. The society of the
Mexicans whom he must sooner or later overtake did not tempt him. When
breakfast was done he idled in the cabin, like the other guests, while
Ephraim and his assistant busied about the premises. But the morning
grew on, and the guests, after a season of smoking and tilted silence
against the wall, shook themselves and their effects together,
saddled, and were lost among the waste thorny hills. Twenty Mile
became hot and torpid. Jones lay on three consecutive chairs,
occasionally singing, and old Mr. Adams had not gone away either,
but watched him, with more tobacco running down his