"Don't throw it up to me, John," said the Major a trifle sheepishly. "I'll say this though: I wouldn't ask for a better man in a tight than you." "Thanks so much!" murmured Pringle. "And that Sir Hubert Stanley thing." "One more point, John: You don't know Foy. I do. Foy'll never give up. He's desperate--and he's not pleased. There's no question of surrender and standing trial; understand that. He'd be lynched, probably, if they ever got him in Las Uvas. A trial, even, would be just lynching under another name. They don't want to capture him anyway--they want a chance to kill him." "I wouldn't want the job," said Pringle. "Hush!" said Stella. "I hear them coming. Talk about something else--the war in Europe." The Major picked up a paper. "What do you think about the United States building a big navy, John?" he asked casually. Stealthy footsteps rustled without. "Fine!" said Pringle. "I'm strong for it. We want dreadnoughts, and lots of 'em--biggest we can build. But that ain't all. When we make the navy appropriations we ought to set by about fifty-some-odd million and build a big multiple-track railroad, so we can carry our navy inland in case of war. The ocean is no place for a battleship these days." "Stop your kidding!" "I'm not kidding," said John Wesley indignantly. "I never was twice as serious in my whole life. My plan is sound, statesman-like--" "Shut up, you idiot! I want to read." "Oh, very well, then! I'll grind the coffee." Men crept close to the open door on each side of the kitchen. Stella slipped a pan of biscuits in the oven; she laid the table briskly, with a merry clatter of tinware; her face was cheerful and unclouded. The Major leaned back in one chair, his feet on another; he was deep in the paper; he puffed his pipe. John Wesley Pringle twirled the coffee mill between his knees and sang a merry tune: _"There were three little mice, playing in the barn-- Inky, dinky, doodum, day! Though they knew they were doing what was very, very wrong-- Inky, dinky, doodum, day! And the song of the owls, it sounded so nice That closer and closer crept the three little mice. And the owls came and gobbled them----"_ A shadow fell across the floor. "Hands up!" said the sheriff of Dona Ana. "We want Chris Foy!" Chapter IV