amp, and I clung on. The bandits
pursued me, and everything else is a haze till I heard Frank calling for
me to jump off. I recognized his voice and fell off the horse, although
I had not the least idea in the world where I was."

"Wa'al," chuckled Bushnell, "thet's w'at I call dead fool luck, beggin'
yer pardon fer speakin' so open like, at which I means no harm
whatever."

"Oh, ye needn't beg my pardon," quickly said Professor Scotch. "I don't
want any credit for getting away. It wasn't a case of brains at all."

Breakfast was prepared, and they ate heartily, after which Frank, Hans,
and the professor lay down to sleep, while Bushnell smoked a black pipe.

But even Bushnell was not made of iron, and the pipe soothed him to
slumber, so the entire party slept, with no one to guard.

All at once, some hours later, they were awakened by an exclamation from
Frank, who sat up and stared at the form of a stranger, the latter being
quietly squatting in their midst, calmly puffing at a cigarette, while
his poncho was wrapped about him to his hips.

Frank's exclamation awakened Bushnell like an electric shock, and, even
as his eyes opened, his hand shot out, the fingers grasping the butt of
a revolver that was pointed straight at the stranger.

"Stiddy, thar!" called the Westerner. "I hev ther drop on yer, an' I'll
sock yer full of lead ef yer wiggle a toenail! You hear me chirp!"

The stranger continued smoking, his coal-black eyes being the only part
of him to move, for all of the threatening revolver.

Hans sat up, gasping:

"Shimminy Gristmas! Der pandits haf caught us alretty soon!"

At this Professor Scotch gave a groan of dismay, faintly gurgling:

"Then I'm a goner!"

That the stranger was a half-blood could be seen at a glance.

"Drap thet cigaroot, an' give an account of yerself instanter right
off!" ordered Bushnell, threateningly. "Who in blazes be yer?"

The cigarette fell from the man's lips, and he answered:

"I am Rodeo."

"Wa'al, who is Rodeo?"

"The brother of Pacheco."

"Don't I toldt you dot!" panted the Dutch boy.

Professor Scotch groaned again, and rolled a little farther from the
half-blood, but still made no effort to sit up.

"Wa'al, dern your skin!" cried Bushnell. "You've got a nerve to come
hyar! I s'pose Pacheco an' his gang of onery varmints is within whoopin'
distance?"

"I am alone; there is no one within call."

"Wa'al, w'at be yer hyar fer, thet's what I wants ter k