"Some is mulish, an' that mean they'll eat your chaps offen you whilst you is consumin' of a drink; others, sech is their perverse nature, will go curvin' off on the run as if they're locoed; whilst many will buck their saddles off an' sunfish every time you-alls swings your leg over them. "I has a white-eyed claybank one time that would pitch ontil this sinful world played its last jack-pot if I held my hand on his back that long--good old worm-fence buckin' at that. Yes, hosses is shore mighty various, but the worsest of 'em is virgin gold to a peanut ahead of any human that ever draws breath. Chucks! They don't run on the same range." "That may be the way it looks from your side of the deck, but the bally fantasia that moke plays makes me sorter doubtful. I allows you lays it on too thick, mate," objected Bill Benson. "I merely states it as my opeenion," observed Broncho politely; "an' now," he went on, "as it's gettin' some late, I guess I'll roll into my blankets." "Down 'ammicks, boys," called the bluejacket to the others. It had been arranged that he was to be on guard the first watch, Broncho taking the middle, and Tari the morning, Jim and the rover reserving themselves for the following night. Soon the whole camp was asleep except the bosun's mate, who paced up and down the beach in a moody reverie. As the hours passed he shrank more and more from the dread event in which he was to take part during the middle watch; yet he had consented and given his word, and he was not the man to back out of an undertaking and leave his mate in the lurch, however much his feelings went against it. Slowly midnight approached, and at last the dreaded moment arrived. With an irrepressible shudder he went up to the sleeping cowboy and shook him gently, saying, "Eight bells, mate!" Broncho opened his eyes and sat up, his mind rousing itself from deep sleep to clear-headed wakefulness with the long habit of his calling. "All quiet?" he asked in a whisper. "Aye," replied the bluejacket, in the same low tone. Broncho gave a keen glance round. Jack, with his right hand locked in Loyola's, was sleeping the sleep of the just, but the woman seemed to be crying softly. Anxiously the cowboy bent over her. "It's all right!" he whispered. "The poor gal's on'y a-whimperin' in her sleep, and I ain't none surprised." Jim likewise, lying on his face, seemed dead to the world. They then roused Tari, who sprang straight out of a heavy slumber to his feet without a word, and the three silent men crept softly away. Tari glided ghostlike in the moonlight to the boat, and returned to the others with a coil of rope on his arm; and now all three approached the unconscious Hawksley.