"You come along with me in the coach, Charley," Hill said--Hill always was a friendly sort of a fellow--"and I'll jerk you over to Santa Fé in no time, and you can start right off East by the 6.30 train. That'll be quicker'n going up to Pueblo, and it'll be cheaper too. The ride across sha'n't cost you a cent. If you and your lady come in my coach, you come free. And I say, boys," Hill went on, "let's open a pot for them little girls! Here's my hat, with ten dollars in it for a warmer. I'd make it more if I could--and nobody'll hurt my feelings by raising my call." All hands made a rush for Hill's hat--and when Hill handed it to that poor woman, who had her pocket-handkerchief up to her eyes under her veil and was crying so she shook all over, there was more'n two hunderd dollars in it, mostly gold. "This is for them children, ma'am, with all our compliments," Hill said--and he and Charley helped her hold her shawl up, so it made a kind of a bag, while he turned his hat upside-down. "Speaking for my dear little girls, I thank you from my heart, gentlemen," Santa Fé said. "This is a royal gift, and it comes at a mighty good time. Some part of it must be used to pay our way East--back to the dear old home, where those little angels are waiting for us sitting cuddled up on their grandmother's knees. What remains, I promise you gentlemen, shall be a sacred deposit--to be used in buying little dresses, and hats, and things, for my sweet babes. I hate to use a single cent of it for anything else, but the fact is just now I'm right down to the hardpan." And everybody--remembering Santa Fé'd took advantage of being on his drunk to get cleaned out at Denver Jones's place the night before the shooting--knowed this was true. "Well, Charley, we must be andying along," Hill said. "Waiting here to see you hung has put me more'n an hour behind on my schedule. I'll have to hustle them mules like hell"--that was the careless way Hill talked always--"if we're going to ketch that 6.30 train." Everybody shook hands for good-bye with Santa Fé and his wife, and Santa Fé had his pockets stuffed full of seegars, and more bottles was put in the coach than was needed--and then we give 'em three cheers again, and away they went down the slope to the bridge over the Rio Grande, with Hill whipping away for all he was worth and cussing terrible at his mules. Whipping done some good, Hill used to say; but cuss-words was the only sure things to make mules go.