Down the street in a cloud of dust rumbled the Las Cruces-El Paso stage and the two punchers went up to meet it. Raw furrows showed in the woodwork, one mule was missing and the driver and guard wore fresh bandages. A tired tenderfoot leaped out with a sigh of relief and hunted for his baggage, which he found to be generously perforated. Swearing at the God-forsaken land where a man had to fight highwaymen and Indians inside of half a day he grumblingly lugged his valise toward a forbidding-looking shack which was called a hotel. The driver released his teams and then turned to Red. “Hullo, old hoss, how's th' gang?” he asked genially. “We've had a heck of a time this yere trip,” he went on without waiting for Red to reply. “Five miles out of Las Cruces we stood off a son-of-a-gun that wanted th' dude's wealth. Then just this side of the San Andre foothills we runs into a bunch of young bucks who turned us off this yere way an' gave us a runnin' fight purty near all th' way. I'm a whole lot farther from Paso now than I was when I started, an seem as I lost a jack I'll be some time gittin' there. Yu don't happen to sabe a jack I can borrow, do yu?” “I don't know about no jack, but I'll rope yu a bronch,” offered Red, winking at Johnny. “I'll pull her myself before I'll put dynamite in di' traces,” replied the driver. “Yu fellers might amble back a ways with me--them buddin' warriors'll be layin' for me.” “We shore will,” responded Johnny eagerly. “There's nine of us now an' there'll be nine more an' a cook to-morrow, mebby.” “Gosh, yu grows some,” replied the guard. “Eighteen'll be a plenty for them glory hunters.” “We won't be able to,” contradicted Red, “for things are peculiar.” At this moment the conversation was interrupted by the tenderfoot, who sported a new and cheap sombrero and also a belt and holster complete. “Will you gentlemen join me?” He asked, turning to Red and nodding at the saloon. “I am very dry and much averse to drinking alone.” “Why, shore,” responded Red heartily, wishing to put the stranger at ease. The game was running about even as they entered and Lefty Allen was singing “The Insult,” the rich tenor softening the harshness of the surroundings. I've swum th' Colorado where she's almost lost to view, I've braced th' Jaro layouts in Cheyenne; I've fought for muddy water with a howlin' bunch of Sioux, An' swallowed hot tamales, an' cayenne. I've rid a pitchin' broncho 'till th' sky was underneath, I've tackled every desert in th' land; I've sampled XXXX whiskey 'till I couldn't hardly see, An' dallied with th' quicksands of the Grande. I've argued with th' marshals of a half-a-dozen burgs, I've been dragged free an' fancy by a cow; I've had three years' campaignin' with th' fightin', bitin' Ninth, An' never lost my temper 'till right now.