"Throw up your hands," he ordered loudly, stepping out of the wagon-shed with his Winchester at his shoulder. There was a quick turn of the figure, but no movement to obey, so the ranger pumped in the bullets--one--two--three--and then twice more; for you never could be too sure of bringing down the Cisco Kid. There was no danger of missing at ten paces, even in that half moonlight. The old ancestor, asleep on his blanket, was awakened by the shots. Listening further, he heard a great cry from some man in mortal distress or anguish, and rose up grumbling at the disturbing ways of moderns. The tall, red ghost of a man burst into the _jacal_, reaching one hand, shaking like a _tule_ reed, for the lantern hanging on its nail. The other spread a letter on the table. "Look at this letter, Perez," cried the man. "Who wrote it?" "_Ah, Dios_! it is Señor Sandridge," mumbled the old man, approaching. "_Pues [84], señor_, that letter was written by '_El Chivato_,' as he is called--by the man of Tonia. They say he is a bad man; I do not know. While Tonia slept he wrote the letter and sent it by this old hand of mine to Domingo Sales to be brought to you. Is there anything wrong in the letter? I am very old; and I did not know. _Valgame Dios_! [85] it is a very foolish world; and there is nothing in the house to drink--nothing to drink." [FOOTNOTE 84: Pues--(Spanish) Well then] [FOOTNOTE 85: Valgame Dios!--(Spanish) God help me!] Just then all that Sandridge could think of to do was to go outside and throw himself face downward in the dust by the side of his humming-bird, of whom not a feather fluttered. He was not a _caballero_ by instinct, and he could not understand the niceties of revenge. A mile away the rider who had ridden past the wagon-shed struck up a harsh, untuneful song, the words of which began: Don't you monkey with my Lulu girl Or I'll tell you what I'll do-- XII THE SPHINX APPLE Twenty miles out from Paradise, and fifteen miles short of Sunrise City, Bildad Rose, the stage-driver, stopped his team. A furious snow had been falling all day. Eight inches it measured now, on a level. The remainder of the road was not without peril in daylight, creeping along the ribs of a bijou range of ragged mountains. Now, when both snow and night masked its dangers, further travel was not to be thought of, said Bildad Rose. So he pulled up his four stout horses, and delivered to his five passengers oral deductions of his wisdom. Judge Menefee, to whom men granted leadership and the initiatory as upon a silver salver, sprang from the coach at once. Four of his fellow-passengers followed, inspired by his example, ready to explore, to objurgate, to resist, to submit, to proceed, according as their prime factor might be inclined to sway them. The fifth passenger, a young woman, remained in the coach.