else?"

"No."

"Put up your hands again until I fix these things."

Again the traveler lifted his hands above his head, while the other
buckled the belt around his own body, which it circled above another
already heavy with cartridges and revolver. This latter weapon he drew
from his holster, and, coming close beside Tuttle, held it at cock
while he passed his hand lightly over the rider's person.

"I guess you spoke the truth," he said, returning the pistol to his
belt, and again leveling the shot-gun. "Now, Mr. Thomson Tuttle,
you've been a gentleman so far, and as long as you keep up that play
you'll be all right. You won't be hurt if you don't make any breaks.
Take down your hands and we'll go into camp and have some supper."

Tuttle held his hands motionless in the air a moment longer as he
said:

"Any objection to my askin' who you are?"

"You said yourself that the drop's mine."

"All right, pard."

As they neared the camp, the man called to him to dismount, walk
forward and sit down in a wagon seat near the fire. Tuttle could see
the wagon from which the seat had been taken, a small, light affair,
standing back in the shadow, and near it two horses feeding. Another
man stood a little way off with leveled gun, apparently relieving
guard for the first. He was in the shade of a tall mesquite bush, but
Tuttle could see that he was of medium height and build and was
dressed in a Mexican suit of closely fitting, braided trousers and
jacket. The wide brim of his Mexican sombrero was pulled low over his
eyes, so that only the lower part of his face could be seen, and that
dimly. But it was evidently dark-skinned, and the mouth was shaded by
a black mustache. "Some Greaser scalawag," was Tuttle's immediate
decision. The other unsaddled, watered and fed the horse, and then
returned to the fire and began making coffee.

"We haven't much to eat," he said apologetically, "but you're welcome
to a share of whatever we've got."

Soon he put beside Tuttle a supper of hot coffee, fried bacon, canned
baked beans, and a loaf of bread. Then he sat on the ground near by
and talked cheerfully while Tuttle ate, now and then urging him, in
hospitable fashion, to eat heartily. But all the time he held his
revolver in his hand, and the other man stood in the shadow with his
Winchester ready to fire at a second's notice. Tuttle and his captor
talked on in a friendly way for half an hour after supper, while the
other still ke