Chapter XXI: The Greaser

"You are certainly a great chap for collecting knives," said Jim admiringly to his brother Jo. "Somebody is always giving you one or throwing it at you. Remember that Indian friend of yours who crept up on you that night in Kansas and threw the bowie at you?"

"I'm not likely to forget that souvenir," grinned Jo. "But this fellow certainly was going to give me the best surprise of all. Was it not so, Senor Manuello Greasero?" and Jo gave the fellow a contemptuous stir with his foot and the Mexican responded with an open-mouthed snarl for all the world like a wild cat when you poke a stick at him.

"It was a dirty, treacherous piece of business," said Jim, his face growing dark with anger. "I'm going to put this fellow to the question."

But they made no headway with the prisoner, as he maintained a stubborn silence about himself and his associates. Finally Jim, tired and disgusted, rose to his feet and looked down at the Mexican.

"Give me that dagger, Jo," he said. Jo handed over the silver-handled weapon, while the Mexican watched Jim with eyes of concentrated hate. He believed his last hour had come.

"Have you got anything to say for yourself?" inquired Jim savagely, as he felt the edge of the knife with his thumb.

"I want to see a priest," croaked the Mexican in a hoarse voice.

"I can furnish you with a philosopher," said Jim. "Here, Jeems, can you offer any advice to this cutthroat or consolation either?"

"I haven't any license to talk to the likes of him," said Jeems gravely. "He wants a guarantee for the next life and I won't give it to him. But I can tell him one thing, if he don't hang now, he will later."

When the Mexican saw that his life was going to be spared, he may have been surprised, but he showed no sign of gratitude. It was now time for the boys to turn in, but of course the camp was not left without a guard. The night was divided up into watches. Tom was to watch until eleven; then Jeems Howell was to have the watch until one; Jim to three; Juarez to five, and Jo the hour until six.

It was necessary to keep up a moderate fire, for the hours toward midnight were very cold. Tom kept moving around briskly when the others had turned into the tent.

The boys did not lay awake a minute, for they were wholesomely tired and the clear, cold air, touched with the fragrance of the pines, caused them to sleep sound and hard. The light from the fire shone into the tent where the boys were stretched out, wrapped in their blankets. They did not have to sleep with one eye open, because they had confidence that the one on guard would warn them if any danger approached.

Tom, as I have said, was on the alert. He moved around the camp, seeing that the horses were all right and going down the slope of the hill a ways in the darkness if he heard any suspicious sound, with his pistol gripped firmly in his hand and the faithful Shep pattering along at his heels. The dog was a good deal of company for Tom. Then they would return to the fire where the Mexican lay bound, with his hat pulled down over his head, but with his shifty black eyes continually on the alert. If he had any plan, he had no chance to carry it out while Tom was on duty.

At eleven o'clock promptly, Tom stole into the tent, and stepping over Juarez waked up Jeems, who sat up with a tousled head of hair and sadly sleepy, but he took it all like a philosopher, and stooped out of the tent to take his watch on deck. A slight change had come over the weather. A few dark and heavy clouds were drifting high across the valley and there was a steady roar of wind among the pines upon the mountain slopes.

The prisoner noticed the change of guard with interest. "I am thirsty, Senor," he said. The philosopher went and procured for him a drink. "A little closer to the fire now, Senor. I feel cold." The shepherd did as requested.

"Don't ask me to make tea for you now, because I would have to refuse."

The man gave no sign that he understood, and Jeems went back to the horses to see how they were getting along. It was quite a family party of animals and if one had been gone the others would have missed him sadly.

They were all fastened to rather small trees back of the tent. The mules stood with heads slightly bent and perfectly still. Jeems went up to old Missouri, pulling his long ears affectionately, and his muleship did not seem to mind it in the least. As Jeems often said, they were kindred souls. The ponies stood with drooping heads. Jo's horse had his head resting over the neck of Tom's, for they were quite chums.

But Jim's Caliente seemed restless and not quiet like the others. He had a good-sized pine for his anchorage, and was in the center of the group, while the others were tied in a circle around him. He was shaking his head and stamping his feet, but Jeems could not find that there was anything especially the matter with him.

Just then the shepherd thought he heard something moving, or creeping through the brush below and he went cautiously down to investigate. He had got below the crest of the hill, about fifty feet, when he was sure that he saw something crouching and moving swiftly off through the darkness. He cried halt and was about to fire his revolver at it when the object disappeared as though the earth had swallowed it up. Then, too, Jeems was not a very ready hand with a pistol; few philosophers are; it requires an impulsive temperament to shoot offhand. Jeems made his way back to the camp debating in his mind whether he should wake up the boys and tell them what he had seen. This question was settled for him as soon as he arrived in front of the tent. One glance was enough, he saw that the Mexican prisoner had escaped. He was evidently clean gone.

"He's gone, boys," cried Jeems, sticking his head into the tent.

"Who's gone?" they cried, simultaneously sitting up.

"The Mexican," replied Jeems.

"How long?" cried Jim, getting outside of the tent in a jiffy.

"I haven't been gone over five minutes, maybe eight, though," he added reflectively.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," was Jim's verdict.

"I'm glad we do not have to have him around anyway," chimed in Jo.

"But how did the beggar get away?" inquired Juarez. "He was tied tight enough, I reckon."

"Here's the answer," said Jim, stooping over and picking up a piece of rope that lay on the edge of the circle of the firelight.

"Why, it has been burned through!" exclaimed Juarez.

"Exactly," replied Jim.

"How did he get close enough to the fire to do that?" asked Tom.

"I would have thought that he would have burnt himself up," said Jo.

"It was simple enough," explained Jim. "A coal rolled close to him and he was able to get the rope that tied his hands against it and burnt through, and the rest was easy."

"That was a pretty good trick," said Juarez. "We will have to remember that."

"I would be afraid of burning myself," objected Tom.

"That Mexican wouldn't feel it if you did put a live coal on him," quoth Juarez. "They don't mind heat."

"I bet he gets his gang on our trail," said Jo. "We will have to look out for trouble from now on."

"We will be ready for them," remarked Jim significantly.

"It looks a little bit like a thunderstorm, boys," said Juarez.

"We had better peg that tent down tighter," said Jo. "It is going to blow, too, in a short while."

The boys did not get things ship-shape any too soon. The black clouds were drifting in a gloomy procession over the great valley, then came a flash that showed the expanse of the level meadow in a green-white color and the somber pine-clad slopes, then the wind and rain together.