“Let ’em alone till next time they git into a muss, an’ then clean ’em all out of camp,” said Chagres Charley. “Let’s hev it onderstood that while this camp cheerfully recognizes the right of a gentleman to shoot at sight an’ lay out his man, that it considers stabbin’ in the dark’s the same thing as murder. Them’s our principles, and folks might’s well know ’em fust as last. Good Lord! what’s that?” All the men started to their feet at the sound of a long, loud yell. “That’s one of ’em now!” ejaculated Mississip, with a huge oath. “Nobody but a Greaser ken holler that way—sounds like the last despairin’ cry of a dyin’ mule. There’s only eight or nine of ’em, an’ each of us is good fur two Greasers apiece—let’s make ’em git this minnit.” And Mississip dashed out of the door, followed by the other five, revolvers in hand. The Mexicans lived together, in a hut made of raw hides, one of which constituted the door. The devoted six reached the hut, Texas snatched aside the hide, and each man presented his pistol at full cock. But no one fired; on the contrary, each man slowly dropped his pistol, and opened his eyes. There was no newly-made corpse visible, nor did any Greasers savagely wave a bloody stiletto. But on the ground, insensible, lay a Mexican woman, and about her stood seven or eight Greasers, each looking even more dumb, incapable, and solemn than usual. The city fathers felt themselves in an awkward position, and Mississip finally asked, in the meekest of tones: “What’s the matter?” “She Codago’s wife,” softly replied a Mexican. “They fight in Chihuahua—he run away—she follow. She come here now—this minute—she fall on Codago—she say something, we know not—he scream an’ run.” “He’s a low-lived scoundrel!” said Chagres Charley, between his teeth. “Ef _my_ wife thort enough of me to follow me to the diggin’s, I wouldn’t do much runnin’ away. He’s a reg’lar black-hearted, white-livered——” “Sh—h—h!” whispered Nappy, the Frenchman. “The lady is recovering, and she may have a heart.” “_Maria, Madre purissima!_” low wailed the woman. “_Mi nino—mi nino perdido!_” “What’s she a-sayin’?” asked Lynn Taps, in a whisper. “She talk about little boy lost,” said the Mexican. “An’ her husband gone, too, poor woman!” said Chagres Charley, in the most sympathizing tones ever heard at Flatfoot Bar. “But a doctor’d be more good to her jes’ now than forty sich husbands as her’n. Where’s the nearest doctor, fellers?” continued Chagres Charley. “Up to Dutch Hill,” said Texas; “an’ I’ll see he’s fetched inside of two hours.” Saying which, Texas dropped the raw-hide door, and hurried off. The remaining five strolled slowly back to Chagres Charley’s hut. “Them Greasers hain’t never got nothin’,” said Mississip, suddenly; “an’ that woman’ll lay thar on the bare ground all night ’fore they think of makin’ her comfortable. Who’s got an extra blanket?”