Gus had not talked with his new acquaintance more than five minutes before he began to feel perfectly at home in his company. Mose was a good deal like the young men he had known in the North. True, he was bronzed and weather-beaten, and his clothing looked as though it had seen the hardest of service; but the words he used showed him to be an intelligent man, and he did not shout as though he thought his listener was hard of hearing. When there was a little pause in the conversation, Gus began to seek information on some points. “What is the reason you men down here all go armed?” he asked. “O, we don’t. The people who live here in town never think of such a thing. The men out there on the porch don’t belong here. They live out on the plains, two or three hundred miles away; and when you have been out there, and have fallen in with a war-party of Apaches or a band of Mexican raiders, you will know why it is that they go armed. When they are at home, they wear their weapons all the time, day and night, for they never know when they are going to be pounced upon, and their stock driven off; and they get so in the habit of keeping themselves always in readiness for a fight, that they do it even in the settlements.” “What do you suppose the landlord meant by telling me that I would have lively times out there on the ranche?” “O, the Indians and Mexicans have begun their raids again. My employer lost about five hundred head of cattle last full moon, and his herdsmen were expecting another raid when I came away. The country for fifty miles around Palos is crowded with men who have been obliged to leave their ranches in the western part of the state, and come nearer to the settlements for the protection of their families and property.” “Gracious!” exclaimed Gus. “Am I so near to hostile Indians?” “You are within a hundred miles of the place where they bushwhacked a lot of herdsmen no longer ago than last week!” Gus shuddered, and wondered how Mose could talk about it without showing some signs of alarm. “Do they ever come near Mr. Ackerman’s rancho?” he asked. “O, yes; that is, the Mexicans do. There’s hardly a stone in the wall that hasn’t been hit by bullets. They rode by there a few nights ago, but they didn’t get the stock they expected to find there, for it was all out of their reach. You see, they cross the river at some lonely spot, late in the afternoon, and approach as near to the settlements as they can without being discovered. Then, as soon as it grows dark, they dash over the ranches, pick up all the stock they can find, shoot anybody, man, woman or child, who happens to fall in their way, and depart as quickly as they came. They lose no time in getting back into their own country, for the herdsmen always start in pursuit as soon as they can get together, and if they overtake the raiders, they are sure to whip them and get the most of their cattle back. The Greasers are better on the run than they are on the fight.”