ay to the telegraph office to get the
answer from Mrs. Welch, for which reason I was a few minutes late to
luncheon.

A stranger to me was sitting opposite Blythe. My friend introduced him
as Mr. Yeager, known all over Arizona as Tom Yeager. It appeared that
he had come to the coast with a couple of carloads of steers, having
disposed of which, time was hanging heavy on his hands.

Anybody who has lived in the cattle country knows the Yeager type. He
was a brown, lithe man, all sinew, bone and muscle. His manner was easy
and indifferent, but out of his hard face cool, quiet eyes judged men
and situations competently.

Over many straight and crooked trails his thirty-five years had brought
him without shame. No doubt he had often skirted the edge of law, but
even when he had been a scamp his footsteps had followed ways justified
by his code.

I gathered from their talk that Blythe and he had served together in the
Rough Riders during the Spanish War. They were exchanging reminiscences
and Jimmie Welch was listening open-mouthed to their conversation.

"Say, ain't he a peacherino, Mr. Sedgwick," whispered my young hopeful.
"Get onto those muscles of his. I'll bet he's got a kick like a mule in
either mitt. Say, him and Teddy Roosevelt must 'a' made the dagoes sick
down in Cuba."

More jokes and stories of camp life passed back and forth.

"Do you reckon he ever killed a Spaniard?" Jimmie murmured to me.

"Better ask him," I suggested.

But at thought of this audacity to his hero the young pirate collapsed.
I put the question for him.

The cowman grinned.

"Only one, Jimmie. And he ain't all mine. Me and a fellow called the
Honorable Samuel Blythe was out scouting one day while we were pushing
through the tangle of brush toward Santiago. I reckon we got too
anxious. Anyhow, we bumped into an ambush and it was a swift hike for us
back to the lines. The bullets were fair raining through the leaves
above us. Recollect, Sam?"

Blythe nodded.

"Rather. Whenever I think of it pins and needles run down my back."

"Well, we cut a blue streak for camp, those fellows after us on the
jump. I used to think I was some runner, but the Honorable Samuel set me
right that day. He led good and strong, me burning the wind behind and
'steen Spaniards spread out in the rear. A fat little cuss was leading
them, and the way he plowed through that underbrush was a caution. You
want to remember, Jimmie, that the thermometer was a