I took in the situation. Tony and his mate were keeping distance nobly. I suppose they drew a clip or two from a stone, but they were in no deadly danger unless the crowd got hold of them. Pedro wasn't much of a hand to sell groceries and truck, but he was a durned good general when it came to war. "Queeck, Beel!" says he. "For to defend us make closed the windows and doors, but the one!" We worked sharp, rolling barrels against the doors and slapping boxes of canned goods against the window-shutters. The work did me a power of good. Anger had driven out most of my fear, yet getting my muscles into use was needed to remove the rest of the poison from my system. Next I broke open a box of cartridges and spread them on the counter, while Pedro loaded revolvers taken from the stock. By the time the feet drew near, we were in fighting trim. Another cry for help sounded almost at the door. Pede and I rushed out. "Get in, boys," I said, "and grab a gun!" They ducked under my arm and entered the store. The rest drew up in a huddle, a ways off, and stopped. "Now, gentlemen," I said in the best Spanish I could muster, "what's the matter?" I got no answer, but bad looks. They talked and muttered among themselves, and shifted about, with ugly motions--as black and treacherous a mob as a man would like to dream of. My temperature went right up. I naturally despise not getting an answer to a question. One lad shook his fist and growled something. That was all. I waited. "Once more," says I, "what's the matter?" Same performance. I shot a hole through the hat of the lad who shook his fist. "Third and last call," says I, "what's the matter?" but they broke and ran. My play held 'em for a minute. Our best show was to take the top hand at once, so I walked down to them. "Now I want to know what ails you people," I said, getting the meaning into Spanish, if the words were a little mixed, "and I want to know quick, or there'll be a fuss right here." A big feller jeered at me: "Put down the gun, and _I'll_ show you what's the matter," he said. "You will?" says I, parting with what sense I had. "You yellow-bellied snake-in-the-grass! _You_ will show a white man, will you? Come on out here, you that's so brave in a crowd!"