what that cut in his arm means," shouted a miner who had struck
a light on the trail; "there's a finger-mark, done in blood on the snow,
by the side of the trail, an' a-pintin' right to that ledge; an' here's
his shirt a-flappin' on a stick stuck in a snow-bank lookin' t'ward
camp."

"There ain't no doubt 'bout what the woman said to him, or what made him
yell an' git, boys," said Chagres Charley, solemnly, as he took a
blanket from his shoulders and spread it on the ground.

Mississip took off his hat, and lifting the poor Mexican from the snow,
laid him in the blanket. Lynn Taps hid the baby, rewrapped, under his
own blanket, and hurried down the mountain, while four men picked up
Codago and followed.

Lynn Taps scratched on the rawhide door; the doctor opened it.

Lynn Tapps unrolled the bundle, and its occupant again raised its
voice.

The woman, who was lying motionless and with closed eyes, sprang to her
feet in an instant, and as Lynn Taps laid his burden on the blankets,
the woman, her every dull feature softened and lighted with motherly
tenderness, threw her arms about the astonished Yankee, and then fell
sobbing at his feet.

"You've brought her the only medicine that'll do her any good," said the
doctor, giving the baby a gentle dig under the ribs as he picked up his
saddle-bags.

Lynn Taps made a hasty escape, and reached the saloon, which had been
hurriedly opened as the crowd was heard approaching.

The bearers of the body deposited it gently on the floor, and the crowd
filed in quietly.

Lynn Taps walked up to the bar, and rapped upon it.

"Walk up, boys," said he; "fill high; hats off. Here's Codago. Maybe he
_didn't_ have a soul, but if he _didn't_, souls ain't needed in this
world. Buttoms up, every man."

The toast was drunk quietly and reverently, and when it was suggested
that the Greasers themselves should have participated, they were all
summoned, and the same toast was drank again.

The next day, as the body of Codago was being carried to a newly dug
grave, on the high ground overlooking the creek, and the Mexicans stood
about, as if dumb staring and incessant smoking were the only
proprieties to be observed on such occasions, Lynn Taps thoughtfully
offered his arm to the weeping widow, and so sorrowful was she
throughout the performance of the sad rites, that Lynn Taps was heard to
remark that, however it might be with the men, there could be no doubt
about Mexican women's posse