lutching at the grass. Roldan,
seriously alarmed, and wondering if any other boys in the history of
the Californias had ever had so much to try their nerves, ran to his
assistance; he caught him by his lean shoulders, and shook him soundly.

"Don Jim! Don Jim!" he exclaimed. "Are you ill, my friend? You have
some whisky in your flask, no?"

At this Hill burst into a loud guffaw. Roldan and Adan looked at each
other helplessly. The Spanish do not laugh often, and although the boys
dimly realised that Hill's explosion resembled--remotely--the dignified
concession of their race to the ridiculous, yet they feared that this
was a diseased and possibly fatal variety.

But in a moment Hill sat up. He wiped his eyes, and with some
difficulty controlled his voice.

"No, I ain't ill, young 'uns," he said. "But them Indians 'ud be pretty
sick if they knowed what they run from. That there object cavortin'
round that there bonfire is old Sanchez, and he's drunk. Oh, Lord!" And
once more Hill gave way to mirth.

"He did more good than harm to get drunk this time," said Roldan,
smiling sympathetically.

"You're right, Rolly. You've got a long head. If old Sanchez had set
down to supper sober to-night, there'd be a war-dance round another
bonfire this minute, and his scalp 'ud be bobbin' bravely. I don't
approve of liquor," he added cautiously, remembering the young ideas
shooting before him. "I only said that there be exceptions to all
rules, and this is one of them."

"I understand," said Roldan, drily. "I am not thinking of following the
Senor Sanchez' example. But do you suppose that was really what
frightened the Indians?"

"Just. Well, I guess! They've probably got some idee of the devil, and
they thought that was him, sure 's fate."

He sprang to his feet, ran forward, caught the bacchanalian about the
shoulders, and rushed him in the direction of the dimly-looming house,
throwing one of his own long legs into the air every now and again. The
boys ran after. When they reached the house its master was extended on
a settee in the living-room, and Hill was telling the tale of their
narrow escape to the frightened household.

"I don't think they'll come back," he said in conclusion. "But it's
jest as well to have your guns ready, and for one or two of ye to set
up all night. We three'd like grub and beds as quick as you kin git 'em
ready."

Never had beds felt so sweet as they did that night. The boys awoke
refreshed,