In a flash of recollection the editor remembered his own experience, and the singular scuffle outside the stable door of the fonda. Undoubtedly Cota had saved him from a similar attack. “But why not tell this story with the other?” said the editor, returning to his first idea. “It's tremendously interesting.” “It won't do,” said Richards, with dogged resolution. “Why?” “Because, Mr. Grey--that fool was myself!” “You! Again attacked!” “Yes,” said Richards, with a darkening face. “Again attacked, and by the same hoss! Cota's hoss! Whether Cota was or was not knowin' its tricks, she was actually furious at me for killin' it--and it's all over 'twixt me and her.” “Nonsense,” said the editor impulsively; “she will forgive you! You didn't know your assailant was a horse WHEN YOU FIRED. Look at the attack on you in the road!” Richards shook his head with dogged hopelessness. “It's no use, Mr. Grey. I oughter guessed it was a hoss then--thar was nothin' else in that corral. No! Cota's already gone away back to San Jose, and I reckon the Ramierez has got scared of her and packed her off. So, on account of its bein' HER hoss, and what happened betwixt me and her, you see my mouth is shut.” “And the columns of the 'Clarion' too,” said the editor, with a sigh. “I know it's hard, sir, but it's better so. I've reckoned mebbe she was a little crazy, and since you've told me that Spanish yarn, it mout be that she was sort o' playin' she was that priest, and trained that mustang ez she did.” After a pause, something of his old self came back into his blue eyes as he sadly hitched up his braces and passed them over his broad shoulders. “Yes, sir, I was a fool, for we've lost the only bit of real sensation news that ever came in the way of the 'Clarion.'” A JACK AND JILL OF THE SIERRAS