Next morning, having pretty much slept himself sober, Hart's nephew went cavorting around Palomitas--that little runt did--like he was about ten foot tall! He had the whole thing over, in the course of the day, a dozen times or more; and as he kept on telling it--now he was sober enough to add things on--it got to be about the biggest fight with road-agents that ever was. The thing that was biggest was the one man he allowed he'd really seen. Why, Goliath of Gath wasn't in it with that fellow, according to Hart's nephew! And he was that desperate and dangerous to look at, he said, not many men would a-had the nerve to try at him with only a derringer--and, what was more, to bring him down. It was well along in the afternoon before we got it for a fact that Hart's nephew really had killed the Greaser. The thing growed that way--from his first telling how he thought he'd hit him--until it ended with the Greaser giving a yell like a stuck pig; and then staggering and throwing his arms up; and then rolling over and over down the side of the barranca to the bottom of it--with his goose cooked all the way through! We was all down at the deepo waiting for the Denver train to pull out, same as usual, while Hart's nephew was doing his tallest talking--and while he was hard at it somebody jumped up and sung out the Santa Fé coach was coming along on the other side of the river from Santa Cruz. Well, that was about the last thing anybody was expecting--and everybody hustled up off the barrels and boxes where they was a-setting and looked with all their eyes. Sure enough, there the old coach was--just as it always was, about that time of day--coming along as natural as you please. After a while, it keeping on getting nearer, we could see it was old Hill himself up on the box driving his mules in good shape; and when he got along near the bridge we could hear him swearing at 'em--Hill did use terrible bad language to them mules--in just his ordinary way. Then he rattled the mules over the bridge and brought 'em a-clipping up the slope this side of it; and then in another minute he pulled right up at the deepo platform where we all was. Hill was laughing all over as he come up to us, and so was a Mexican who was setting on the box with him--a nice tidy little chap, with a powerful big black beard on him--and Hill sung out: "Have you boys heard about the hold-up?" And then he and the little Mexican got to laughing so it was a wonder they didn't fall off. Nobody was thinking nothing about Hart's nephew--till he let off a yell and sung out: "That's the man held the coach up! Get a bead on him with your guns!" And he got his own gun out--and like enough would a-done some fool thing with it if Santa Fé Charley, who was right by him, hadn't smacked him and jerked it out of his hand.