prosperity. All this strange behavior of
cowboys is beyond his pulque-soaked brains. Then he's a Greaser. If
Gene doesn't knock him on the head presently he'll begin to get over his
scare, even of Nels and Monty. But Gene'll pick out the right time. And
I'm gettin' nervous. I want somethin' to start. Never saw Nels in but
one fight, then he just shot a Greaser's arm off for tryin' to draw
on him. But I've heard all about him. And Monty! Monty's the real
old-fashioned gun-man. Why, none of them stories, them lies he told to
entertain the Englishman, was a marker to what Monty has done. What I
don't understand is how Monty keeps so quiet and easy and peaceful-like.
That's not his way, with such an outfit lookin' for trouble. O-ha! Now
for the grand bluff. Looks like no fight at all!"

The guerrilla leader had ceased his restless steps and glances, and
turned to Stewart with something of bold resolution in his aspect.

"Gracias, senor," he said. "Adios." He swept his sombrero in the
direction of the trail leading down the mountain to the ranch; and as he
completed the gesture a smile, crafty and jeering, crossed his swarthy
face.

Ambrose whispered so low that Madeline scarcely heard him. "If the
Greaser goes that way he'll find our horses and get wise to the trick.
Oh, he's wise now! But I'll gamble he never even starts on that trail."

Neither hurriedly nor guardedly Stewart rose out of his leaning posture
and took a couple of long strides toward Don Carlos.

"Go back the way you came," he fairly yelled; and his voice had the ring
of a bugle.

Ambrose nudged Madeline; his whisper was tense and rapid: "Don't miss
nothin'. Gene's called him. Whatever's comin' off will be here quick as
lightnin'. See! I guess maybe that Greaser don't savvy good U. S. lingo.
Look at that dirty yaller face turn green. Put one eye on Nels and
Monty! That's great--just to see 'em. Just as quiet and easy. But
oh, the difference! Bent and stiff--that means every muscle is like a
rawhide riata. They're watchin' with eyes that can see the workin's of
them Greasers' minds. Now there ain't a hoss-hair between them Greasers
and hell!"

Don Carlos gave Stewart one long malignant stare; then he threw back his
head, swept up the sombrero, and his evil smile showed gleaming teeth.

"Senor--" he began.

With magnificent bound Stewart was upon him. The guerrilla's cry was
throttled in his throat. A fierce wrestling ensued, too swift to see
clear