One after the other they plied him with questions, but his answers always left them floundering. He had a way of turning a thrust into a boomerang. He did this with such a guileless, cringing air that they were never sure whether he was secretly laughing at them or if his answers were accidental. Before the meal was over he had them grinning at his absurd tales. In spite of themselves they listened, absorbed, and momentarily almost believed what he said. "Rise up, liars, and salute yuhr king!" Toothpick shouted. For a moment there was a change in the hobo's face. The fawning expression was replaced by a broad, lovable grin that made the punchers' hearts warm toward Jim Anson. Toothpick started. For a moment he studied the hobo's face, saw the fawning smile there again, and shook his head. The five adjourned to Maria's Cantina, on the corner of Depot Street. Jim Anson insisted that the first drink was on him and ordered it in a loud voice. Another followed and another. Toothpick chuckled when he saw that, while Jim Anson always ordered the drinks, one of the three riders paid for them. All the while Jim Anson asked them questions in such a way that they never realized they were being pumped. He turned on Toothpick and skillfully ferreted from him the story of the murder of the Courfay family two weeks before. "When we got there they was all dead, except one gent what says: 'Fees do dible chable' which I figures is French." Toothpick rambled on with his story, but Jim Anson was not listening. "_Fils du Diable à Cheval_," he muttered to himself. "Sons of the Devil on Horseback. Gosh!" A little later "Mac" Kennedy, an Eastern dude, sauntered in. Jim Anson, after studying him a minute, turned to the others. "Who's that gazebo all dressed up like a Christmas tree?" he asked. "He's a white-livered dude," Windy snorted contemptuously. "He comes out here about three months back and says it's for his health," Kansas elaborated. "Buys the Bar X, a little runt of a ranch what backs up against the lava fields." "He don't look yellow," Anson said meditatively. "He is, though. Plumb yellow, from the neck down and feet up," Tad Hicks hiccuped. Ten minutes later Bill Anderson stepped into the _cantina_. He hesitated for a moment when he saw the group at the table; then he nodded to them. "Boss in the back room?" he asked of Maria. "_Si_, _si_, señor." Anderson walked quickly to a door in the back, glancing over his shoulder at the five at the table. Apparently they were too interested in themselves to note his actions. Quietly he passed through and closed the door after him. Jim Anson insisted on buying one last drink here, despite his comrades' urging to try the liquor elsewhere. Maria brought the drinks. Kennedy, the dude laughed as he watched them. He leaned over the bar and whispered something to Maria, then left the _cantina_. The cow-punchers began to sing, and the woman came forward and ordered them to leave.