"Hold on--give me some more of that whiskey before you go. Thanks. Now go and get your fool head shot off if you want to." With a growl of rage, Scott flung out of the house. He strode in the direction of the store where the prisoners still stood helplessly. They had seen firearms, dry-goods, canned food, and Williams' cash box carried out and deposited in the automobile which stood at the side of the store. Now they awaited the next move. Pachuca was evidently gathering his forces for departure. The Athens Mexicans had collected their families, their household goods, and whatever else they could lay their hands on and were ready to follow. These preparations for a general exodus were the first things to strike Scott as he came out of the cabin. It was exasperating, but what could you expect? There was no knowing what rosy tale Pachuca had told them; more than likely that the American army had crossed the border and that they were striking for their altars and their fires. He saw women, babies, and household goods loaded upon his good horse-flesh and disappearing down the road. Scott's blood boiled. His impulse was to shoot Juan Pachuca without warning. He raised his arm and then he paused. One does not shoot men in the back easily unless one is used to doing it. At that moment a Mexican saw him and yelled. Instantly everyone saw him. Pachuca whirled his horse about. It reared and plunged. Its rider laughed loudly. "Ah, there you are, friend Scott!" he called. "I told you----" He brought his gun from his hip with a sudden twist. The two men fired simultaneously. Scott thought--hoped--that he saw Pachuca waver, but the air was full of smoke and he was dazed. He fired again. Pachuca's horse began to pitch violently; it took all its rider's famous horsemanship to keep in the saddle. At the same moment, two men stole up behind Scott, who was rushing forward, seized him, threw him to the ground, and disarmed him. One of them took his rope and bound the American, while both of them grinned and muttered in Spanish. By this time, Pachuca had defeated the evident intentions of the sorrel to buck himself through the store window, and uttering a cry dashed off in the direction of the automobile. "Adios, Senor Scott!" he cried, as he went. "Next time you will take a neighbor's good word, eh?" "Next time I'll take a soft-nosed bullet and get you back of the ear, you rotten little half-breed!" yelled Scott, maddened with helplessness and rage, rolling in the dust. "Marc Scott, ain't you got any sense? Keep your mouth shut!" screamed Mrs. Van Zandt in terror as they gathered around the prostrate man and untied him while the last of the raiders rode off. "Did they get everything?" he demanded as he got to his feet.