string band to accompany him wherever he went—but when it was all over old Juan couldn't buy a pint of whiskey on credit if he was snake-bit. They're a great people, for sure." "That's right," assented Pecos, absently, "but say, I reckon I'll be goin'." The social qualities of the Spanish-Americans did not interest him just then—he was thinking about Boone Morgan. "Gimme a dollar's worth of smoking tobacco and a box of forty-fives and I'll hit the road." "There's one thing more you forgot," suggested Angevine Thorne, as he wrapped up the purchases. "What—Marcelina?" ventured Pecos, faintly. "Naw—your _mail_!" cried Angy, scornfully, and dipping down into a cracker box he brought out a paper on the yellow wrapper of which was printed "Pecos Dalhart, Verde Crossing, Ariz." "_I_ never subscribed for no paper!" protested Pecos, turning it over suspiciously. "Here—I don't want it." "Ump-umm," grunted Angy, smiling mysteriously, "take it along. All the boys git one. You can read it out in camp. Well, if you're goin' to be bull-headed about it I'll tell you. Crit subscribed for it for every man in Verde—only cost two-bits a year. Got to build up this mail route somehow, you know. It's called the _Voice of Reason_ and it's against the capitalistic classes." "The which?" inquired Pecos, patiently. "Aw, against rich fellers—these sharks like Old Crit that's crushin' the life outer the common people. That's the paper I was showin' you—where they was advertisin' diamonds for a dollar forty-eight a piece." "Oh," said Pecos, thrusting it into his chaps, "why didn't you say so before? Sure, I'll read it!" CHAPTER VI "THE VOICE OF REASON"