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 could do that right was th’ man who invented it, Mr. Bowie, of Texas,” explained Mr. Cassidy to the other Mexican. Then he glanced at the broncho, that was squealing in rage and fear at the shot, which sounded like a cannon in the small room, and laughed.
“That’s my cayuse, all right, an’ he wasn’t up no cactus nor roostin’ on th’ roof, neither. He’s th’ most affectionate beast I ever saw. It took me nigh onto six months afore I could ride him without fighting him to a standstill,” said Mr. Cassidy to his guest. Then he turned to the horse and looked it over. “Come here! What d’yu mean, acting thataway? Yu ragged end of nothin’ wobbling in space! Yu wall-eyed, ornery, locoed guide to Hades! Yu won’t be so frisky when yu’ve made them seventy hot miles between here an’ Alkaline in five hours,” he promised, as he made his way toward the animal.
Mr. Travennes walked over to the opposite wall and took down a pouch of tobacco which hung from a peg. He did this in a manner suggesting ownership, and after he had deftly rolled a cigarette with one hand he put the pouch in his pocket and, lighting up, inhaled deeply and with much satisfaction. Mr. Cassidy turned around and glanced the group over, wondering if the tobacco had been left in the hut on a former call.
“Did yu find yore makings?” He asked, with a note of congratulations in his voice.
“Yep. Want one?” Asked Mr. Travennes.
Mr. Cassidy ignored the offer and turned to the guard whom he had found asleep.
“Is that his tobacco?” He asked, and the guard, anxious to make everything run smoothly, told the truth and answered:
“Shore. He left it here last night,” whereupon Mr. Travennes swore and Mr. Cassidy smiled grimly.
“Then yu knows how yore cayuse got in an’ how mine got out,” said the latter. “I wish yu would explain,” he added, fondling his Colts.
Mr. Travennes frowned and remained silent.
“I can tell yu, anyhow,” continued Mr. Cassidy, still smiling, but his eyes and jaw belied the smile. “Yu took them cayuses out because yu wanted yourn to be found in their places. Yu remembered Santa Fe an’ it rankled in yu. Not being man enough to notify me that yu’d shoot on sight an’ being afraid my friends would get yu if yu plugged me on th’ sly, yu tried to make out that me an’ Red rustled yore cayuses. That meant a lynching with me an’ Red in th’ places of honor. Yu never saw Red afore, but yu didn’t care if he went with me. Yu don’t deserve fair play, but I’m going to give it to yu because I don’t want anybody to say that any of th’ Bar-20 ever murdered a man, not even a skunk like yu. My friends have treated me too square for that. Yu can take this gun an yu can do one of three things with it, which are: walk out in th’ open a hundred paces an’ then turn an walk toward me—after you face me yu can set it a-going whenever yu want to; the second is, put it under yore hat an’ I’ll put mine an’ th’ others back by the cayuses. Then we’ll toss up an’ th’ lucky man gets it to use as he wants. Th’ third is, shoot yourself.”
Mr. Cassidy punctuated the close of his ultimatum by handing the weapon, muzzle first, and, because the other might be an adept at “twirling,” he kept its recipient covered during the operation. Then, placing his second Colt’s with the captured weapons, he threw them through the door, being very careful not to lose the drop on his now armed prisoner.
Mr. Travennes looked around and wiped the sweat from his forehead, and being an observant gentleman, took the proffered weapon and walked to the east, directly toward the sun, which at this time was halfway to the meridian. The glare of its straight rays and those reflected from the shining sand would, in a measure, bother Mr. Cassidy and interfere with the accuracy of his aim, and he was always thankful for small favors.
Mr. Travennes was the possessor of accurate knowledge regarding the lay of the land, and the thought came to him that there was a small but deep hole out toward the east and that it was about the required distance away. This had been dug by a man who had labored all day in the burning sun to make an oven so that he could cook mesquite root in the manner he had seen the Apaches cook it. Mr. Travennes blessed hobbies, specific and general, stumbled thoughtlessly and disappeared from sight as the surprised Mr. Cassidy started forward to offer his assistance.
Upon emphatic notification from the man in the hole that his help was not needed, Mr. Cassidy wheeled around and in great haste covered the distance separating him from the hut, whereupon Mr. Travennes swore in self-congratulation and regret. Mr. Cassidy’s shots barked a cactus which leaned near Mr. Travennes’ head and flecked several clouds of alkali near that person’s nose, causing him to sneeze, duck, and grin.
“It’s his own gun,” grumbled Mr. Cassidy as a bullet passed through his sombrero, having in mind the fact that his opponent had a whole belt full of .44’s. If it had been Mr. Cassidy’s gun that had been handed over he would have enjoyed the joke on Mr. Travennes, who would have had five cartridges between himself and the promised eternity, as he would have been unable to use the .44’s in Mr. Cassidy’s .45, while the latter would have gladly consented to the change, having as he did an extra .45. Never before had Mr. Cassidy looked with reproach upon his .45 caliber Colt’s, and he sighed as he used it to notify Mr. Travennes that arbitration was not to be considered, which that person indorsed, said indorsement passing so close to Mr. Cassidy’s ear that he felt the breeze made by it.
“He’s been practicin’ since I plugged him up in Santa Fe,” thought Mr. Cassidy, as he retired around the hut to formulate a plan of campaign.
Mr. Travennes sang “Hi-le, hi-lo,” and other selections, principally others, and wondered how Mr. Cassidy could hoist