"You bet they will! They've got to travel mighty fast if they keep up with this procession! Talk about measly tricks! Tom, that Fillmore outfit's the biggest cattle thief in the southwest. It's just plum' ridiculous to hear them talk about Emerson stealin' their cattle! Why, if he'd stayed up nights to steal from them he couldn't have got even for what they've taken from him." They talked over the plan Ellhorn had proposed and when it was all arranged Tuttle asked, "Shall we tell the judge?" "Tell nothin' to nobody!" Nick exclaimed. "The judge will find it out soon enough, and if we don't tell him he won't bother us with advice to give it up. We've got some horse sense, Tommy, and I reckon we-all can run this here excursion without help from any darn fool lawyer in the territory. If they'd left it to us in the first place, we'd have had Emerson at home long before this." "I guess we-all can play our part of this game if Emerson can play his." "Don't you worry about Emerson. He's ready to ride the devil through hell to get back to his round-up." The next morning Nick Ellhorn hunted up the Mexican who worked the garden behind the jail and talked through the enclosure with the old man, who was crippled and half blind. Ellhorn talked with him about the garden and finally said he would like to eat some onions. The Mexican pulled a bunch of young green ones for him, and he sat down on a bench under a peach tree near the wall of the jail-court to eat them. He sent the Mexican back to his hut for some salt, and at once began whistling loudly the air of "Bonnie Dundee." Presently he broke into the words of the song and woke the echoes round about, as he and Emerson Mead had done on many a night around the camp-fire on the range: "Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle my horse and call out my men." There he stopped and waited, and in a moment a baritone voice on the other side of the wall took up the song: "Come ope the west port and let us go free To follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!" Ellhorn went on singing as he threw one of his onions, then another, over the wall. One of them came sailing back and fell beside the peach tree. Then he took a slip of folded paper from his pocket, tied it to another onion and sent it over the cactus-crowned adobe. The Mexican returned with the salt and they sat down together under the tree, chatting sociably. Presently Mead's voice came floating out from behind the wall in the stirring first lines of the old Scotch ballad: "To the lords of convention, 'twas Claverhouse spoke: 'If there are heads to be crowned, there are heads to be broke!'" Nick chuckled, winked at the old Mexican, and hurried off to find Tuttle. That evening, soon after the full darkness of night had mantled the earth, Nick Ellhorn and Tommy Tuttle rode toward the jail, leading an extra horse. Ellhorn gave Tuttle a lariat.