Part 12 (2/2)

”Hold!” says I, ”you've no call to jump me--I can't stand for a man being slit in cold blood--no offense meant.”

”I forget your service,” says he. ”Pardon--here ees my han'.” We shook hands. ”But you have made the foolish thing,” he says. ”There ees a man who ees to be keeled dead, and you let heem go--that ees more foolish as to let the Fer-de-lance free.”

”Well, I know,” says I, ”I suppose you're right, but my ideas ain't quite foreign enough yet.”

He smiled. ”Your largeness made me mistake,” says he. ”I see you are a gentleman not of so many years, but of the heart strong and the arm stronger--you play with that man--chuckee--chuckee--chuckee--like hees mother. Eet was lovelee. May I ask the name?”

”William De La Tour Saunders,” says I, ”commonly called Bill.”

”Ah, Beel!” says he, ”I r-r-remember. Here is Antonio Orinez--your frien' when you wish.”

”Well, Mr. Orinez,” says I, ”hadn't we better be walking along? You're bleeding pretty free.”

”_Ta!_” says he, shrugging his shoulders. ”I am used to eet--still, I go. Thees ees not a healthy land for me.”

”What was the row about?” I asked, my kid curiosity coming up.

”I cannot tell even my best frien',” he answers, smiling so pleasant there was no injury. ”_Quiere poqnito de aguardiente?_”

”No,” I says, ”I'm not drinking at present--it's a promise I made.” (Oh, the vanity of a boy!) ”But I'll trot along with you.”

He shook his head. ”Do not,” he says, ”believe me, I have reason--can I do you any service, now?”

I was a little anxious to get on my own business. The lull from the fight had come in the shape of a seasick feeling.

”Do you know a man by the name of Saxton?” I inquired.

He gave me a quick look--a friendly look, ”Arthur Saxton--tall--grande--play the violeen like the davil?”

”That's him.”

”Around that corner, not far, on thees side,” waving his left hand, ”you see the name--eet ees a es-store for food.”

I was surprised enough to find that Sax had opened a grocery store.

”Thanks,” says I, and swung in the saddle.

Orinez raised a hand, playful.

”Geeve me some other ho-r-r-r-se!” says he. ”Bin' opp my wounds!” he laughed. ”By-by, Beel, r-remember me, as I shall remember ju!”

”Good-by, Mr. Orinez,” says I. He called after me, ”Eef you need a frien', there is Orinez!”

”Same to you, old man!” I says, and swings around the corner.

Saxton was working outside the store, overseeing the unloading of some wagons. It was a large store, with a big stock, and Sax was busy as a hound-pup at a rabbit-hole. I rubbed my eyes. Somehow the last thing I expected to see Sax was a storekeeper. I slipped up and put my hands on his shoulders to surprise him. It surprised him all right. I felt the muscles jump under the coat, although he stood still enough, and he whirled on me with an ugly look in his eye.

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