Jim Waring of Sonora-Town; Or, Tang of Life. Henry Herbert Knibbs

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      "Thought he showed too much boot for a hard-riding chola," muttered

       Waring.

      He rose and threw some hay to the horses. He could hear Ramon and Armigo talking in the ranch-house. Taking his empty canteen from his own saddle, he untied the sacks and slipped the gold-pieces, one by one, into the canteen. He scooped up sand and filled the canteen half full. The gold no longer jingled as he shook it.

      While Waring had no fear that either of the men would attempt to escape, he knew Mexicans too well to trust Armigo explicitly. A thousand dollars was a great temptation to a poor rancher. And while Armigo had always professed to be Waring's friend, sympathy of blood and the appeal of money easily come by might change the placid face of things considerably.

      Waring strode to the house, washed and ate with Juan in the kitchen; then he invited the Mexican out to the corral.

      "José and Ramon are your countrymen, Juan."

      "Si, señor. I am sorry for Ramon. This thing was not of his doing. He is but a boy—"

      Waring touched the other's arm. "There will be no trouble, Juan. Only keep better track of your horses while I ride this part of the country."

      "But—señor—"

      "I've had business with you before. Two of your cayuses are astray down the Agua Fria. One of them is dragging a maguey lead-rope."

      "Señor, it is impossible!"

      "No, it isn't! I know your brand. See here, Juan. You knew that Vaca was trying to get away. You knew I'd be sent to get him. Why did you let him take two spare horses?"

      "But, señor, I swear I did not!"

      "All right. Then when Ramon rode in here two days ago and asked you for two horses, why didn't you refuse him? Why did you tell him you would sell them, but that you would not lend them to him?"

      "If Ramon says that, he lies. I told Ramon—"

      "Thanks. That's all I want to know. I don't care what you told Ramon. You let him take the horses. Now, I'm going to tell you something that will be worth more to you than gold. Don't try to rope any stock grazing round here to-night. I might wake up quick and make a mistake. Men look alike in the moonlight—and we'll have a moon."

      "It shall be as the señor says. It is fate."

      "All right, amigo. But it isn't fate. It's making fool mistakes when you or your countrymen tackle a job like Vaca tackled. Just get me a couple of blankets. I'll sleep out here to-night."

      Juan Armigo plodded to the adobe. The lamplight showed his face beaded with sweat. He shuffled to an inner room, and came out with blankets on his arm. Vaca lay on a bed-roll in the corner of the larger room, and near him stood Ramon.

      "The señor sleeps with the horses," said Armigo significantly.

      Ramon bent his head and muttered a prayer.

      "And if you pray," said Armigo, shifting the blankets from one arm to the other, "pray then that the two horses that you borrowed may return. As for your Uncle José, he will not die."

      "And we shall be taken to the prison," said Ramon."

      "You should have killed the gringo." And Armigo's tone was matter-of-fact. "Or perhaps told him where you had hidden the gold. He might have let you go, then."

      Ramon shook his head. Armigo's suggestion was too obviously a question as to the whereabouts of the stolen money.

      The wounded man opened his eyes. "I have heard," he said faintly. "Tell the gringo that I will say where the money is hidden if he will let me go."

      "It shall be as you wish," said Armigo, curious to learn more of the matter.

      At the corral he delivered Vaca's message to Waring, who feigned delight at the other's information.

      "If that is so, Tio Juan," he laughed, "you shall have your share—a hundred pesos. Leave the blankets there by my saddle. We will go to the house."

      From the coolness of night, with its dim radiance of stars, to the accumulated heat of the interior of the adobe was an unpleasant change. The walls were whitewashed and clean enough, but the place smelled strongly of cooking. A lamp burned on the oilcloth-covered table. Ramon, wide-eyed with trepidation, stood by his uncle, who had braced himself on his elbow as Waring approached. Waring nodded pleasantly and rolled a cigarette. José Vaca glared up at him hungrily. The lower lip, pendulous, showed his broken teeth. Waring thought of a trapped wolf. Juan glanced from one to the other.

      But the gringo seemed incurious, merely gazing at the pictures on the walls; a flaming print of the Madonna, one of the Christ, a cheap photograph of Juan and his señora taken on their wedding day, an abalone shell on which was painted something resembling a horse and rider—

      "The gold is hidden in the house of Pedro Salazar, of Sonora. It is buried in the earth beneath his bed."

      José Vaca had spoken, but Waring was watching Ramon's eyes.

      "All right, hombre. Muchas gracias."

      "And now you will let me go?" queried Vaca.

      "I haven't said so." Waring's tone was pleasant, almost indifferent.

      Ramon's face was troubled. Of what use was it to try and deceive the gringo? But Waring was smiling. Did he, then, believe such an obvious lie?

      "Bueno!" Waring exclaimed. "That lets you out. Now, what about you, Ramon?"

      "My uncle has spoken," said Ramon. "I have nothing to say."

      "Then you will ride with me to Sonora."

      "As you say, señor."

      "All right. Don't sit up all night praying. That won't do any good. Get some sleep. And you, too, Juan." And Waring turned quickly to Armigo. "Sleep all you can. You'll feel better in the morning."

      Waring turned and strode out. In the corral he spread his blankets. With his head on the saddle, he lay gazing up at the stars.

      The horses, with the exception of Waring's buckskin Dex, huddled in one corner of the corral. That strange shape stretched quietly on the ground was new to them.

      For a long time the horse Dex stood with head lowered and one hip sagged as he rested. Just before Waring slept he felt a gentle nosing of his blankets. The big horse sniffed curiously.

      "Strange blankets, eh?" queried Waring drowsily. "But it's the same old partner, Dex."

      The horse walked slowly away, nosing along the fence. Waring knew that he was well sentineled. The big buckskin would resent the approach of a stranger by snorting. Waring turned on his side and slept. His day's work was done.

CHAPTER III

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