That kidnappin' was fixed on fer Saturday. We didn't tell Carlota that was the day. Her maw might git wind of the job; 'r the gal 'd go dress up, which 'd spoil the real look of the hull thing. Then, on a Saturday, after five, Pedro was free to come in town--and most allus showed up with some more of the cholos, pumpin' a hand-car. This Saturday he come, all right, and went over to Sparks's corral fer a couple of hosses. (Us punchers 'd tied our broncs over in the corral too, so's we'd have to run fer 'em when Pedro lit out with the gal. And I'd picked that strawberry roan of Sparks's fer Boston. It was the fastest critter on four laigs in the hull country. Y' see, I wanted Boston t' lead the posse.) Six o'clock was the time named. It 'd give us more 'n two hours of day fer the chase, and then they'd be a nice long stretch of dusk--just the kind of light fer circlin' a' outlaw and capturin' him, dead 'r alive! Wal, just afore the battle, mother, all us cow-punchers happened into the Arnaz place. And a-course, Boston was there. Me and him was settin' 'way back towards the kitchen-end of the room. Pretty soon, we seen Pedro pass the front winda, ridin' a hoss and leadin' another. His loaded quirt was a-hangin' to his one wrist, and on his right laig was the gun filled with blanks that we'd left at Sparks's fer him. He stopped at the far corner of the house, droppin' the bridle over the broncs' haids so they'd stand. Then he came to the side door, opened it about a' inch, peeked in at Carlota,--she was behind the counter--and whistled. She walked straight over to him, smilin'--the little cut-up!--and outen the door! Fer a minute, no sound. Then, the signal--a screech. That screech was so blamed genuwine I almost fergot to stick out my laig and trip Boston as he come by me. Down he sprawled, them spectacles of hisn flyin' off and bustin' to smithereens. The boys bunched at the doors t' cut off the Arnaz boy and the ole lady. Past 'em, I could see them two broncs, with Pedro and Carlota aboard, makin' quick tracks up the street. "Alas! yon villain has stole her!" says Sam Barnes, throwin' up his arms like they do in one of them the_ay_ter plays. "Come," yells Rawson. "We will foller and sa-a-ave her." Then he split fer the corral,--us after him. When we got to it, we found somethin' funny: Our hosses was saddled and bridled all right--_but ev'ry cinch was cut!_ Wal, you could 'a' knocked me down with a feather! That same minute, up come Hank Shackleton on a dead run. "Boys!" he says, "that greaser was half shot when he hit town. Got six more jolts at Dutchy's." Fast as we could, we got some other saddles and clumb on--Bill and Sam and me and Shackleton, Monkey Mike, Buckshot Milliken and the sheriff--and made fer Hairoil's shack. _No Carlota_--but that blamed straw feemale, keeled over woeful, and a cow eatin' her hair. Shiverin' snakes! but we was a sick-lookin' bunch!