t in that hut, though."

Mr. Travennes snickered in a manner decidedly uncomplimentary and began
to whistle, softly at first. The gentleman from the Bar-20 noticed that
his companion was a musician; that when he came to a strong part he
increased the tones until they bid to be heard at several hundred yards.
When Mr. Travennes had reached a most passionate part in "Juanita" and
was expanding his lungs to do it justice he was rudely stopped by the
insistent pressure of his guard's Colt's on the most ticklish part of
his ear.

"I shore wish yu wouldn't strain yoreself thataway," said Mr. Cassidy,
thinking that Mr. Travennes might be endeavoring to call assistance. "I
went an' promised my mother on her deathbed that I wouldn't let nobody
whistle out loud like that, an' th' opery is hereby stopped. Besides,
somebody might hear them mournful tones an' think that something is th'
matter, which it ain't."

Mr. Travennes substituted heartfelt cursing, all of which was heavily
accented.

As they approached the hut Mr. Cassidy again tickled his prisoner and
insisted that he be very quiet, as his cayuse was very sensitive to
noise and it might be there. Mr. Cassidy still thought Mr. Travennes
might have friends in the hut and wouldn't for the world disturb them,
as he would present a splendid target as he approached the building.

CHAPTER XIV. The Tale of a Cigarette

The open door revealed three men asleep on the earthen floor, two of
whom were Mexicans. Mr. Cassidy then for the first time felt called
upon to relieve his companion of the Colt's which so sorely itched that
gentleman's thigh and then disarmed the sleeping guards.

"One man an' a half," murmured Mr. Cassidy, it being in his creed that
it took four Mexicans to make one Texan.

In the far corner of the room were two bronchos, one of which tried in
vain to kick Mr. Cassidy, not realizing that he was ten feet away. The
noise awakened the sleepers, who sat up and then sprang to their feet,
their hands instinctively streaking to their thighs for the weapons
which peeked contentedly from the bosom of Mr. Cassidy's open shirt. One
of the Mexicans made a lightning-like grab for the back of his neck for
the knife which lay along his spine and was shot in the front of his
neck for his trouble. The shot spoiled his aim, as the knife flashed
past Mr. Cassidy's arm, wide by two feet, and thudded into the door
frame, where it hummed angrily.

"The only man who cou