"Holy Christmas!" says I--he asked as cool as he would a light for his cigar--"What do you mean? Just _stick_ him?" "_Certamente_," says he, "he ees no good." I chucked my victim as far as I could throw him. "Run, you fool!" I says, and he scuttled out of that like a jack-rabbit. He was gone before my friend could start after him. I got the full blast of the disappointment. "I do not quite understand, Señor," says he, with his hand on his knife. "Hold!" says I, "you've no call to jump me--I can't stand for a man being slit in cold blood--no offense meant." "I forget your service," says he. "Pardon--here ees my han'." We shook hands. "But you have made the foolish thing," he says. "There ees a man who ees to be keeled dead, and you let heem go--that ees more foolish as to let the Fer-de-lance free." "Well, I know," says I, "I suppose you're right, but my ideas ain't quite foreign enough yet." He smiled. "Your largeness made me mistake," says he. "I see you are a gentleman not of so many years, but of the heart strong and the arm stronger--you play with that man--chuckee--chuckee--chuckee--like hees mother. Eet was lovelee. May I ask the name?" "William De La Tour Saunders," says I, "commonly called Bill." "Ah, Beel!" says he, "I r-r-remember. Here is Antonio Oriñez--your frien' when you wish." "Well, Mr. Oriñez," says I, "hadn't we better be walking along? You're bleeding pretty free." "_Ta!_" says he, shrugging his shoulders. "I am used to eet--still, I go. Thees ees not a healthy land for me." "What was the row about?" I asked, my kid curiosity coming up. "I cannot tell even my best frien'," he answers, smiling so pleasant there was no injury. "_Quiere poqnito de aguardiente?_" "No," I says, "I'm not drinking at present--it's a promise I made." (Oh, the vanity of a boy!) "But I'll trot along with you." He shook his head. "Do not," he says, "believe me, I have reason--can I do you any service, now?" I was a little anxious to get on my own business. The lull from the fight had come in the shape of a seasick feeling. "Do you know a man by the name of Saxton?" I inquired. He gave me a quick look--a friendly look, "Arthur Saxton--tall--grande--play the violeen like the davil?" "That's him." "Around that corner, not far, on thees side," waving his left hand, "you see the name--eet ees a es-store for food." I was surprised enough to find that Sax had opened a grocery store. "Thanks," says I, and swung in the saddle. Oriñez raised a hand, playful. "Geeve me some other ho-r-r-r-se!" says he. "Bin' opp my wounds!" he laughed. "By-by, Beel, r-remember me, as I shall remember ju!" "Good-by, Mr. Oriñez," says I. He called after me, "Eef you need a frien', there is Oriñez!" "Same to you, old man!" I says, and swings around the corner.