"Herr Merrill, you are all righd. Young man, are you afraidt?"

"No," protested young Markley indignantly, "but----"

"Budt what, eh? Answer me dot, blease. Budt vot?"

The belligerent German advanced till his pudgy forefinger was shaking
under Markley's aristocratic nose.

"Well, they say, you know, that Madero isn't very gentle to his
prisoners, especially when they happen to be gringoes."

"There, there, Markley," said Mr. Merrill, with a tinge of impatience,
"don't repeat all the old gossips' tales about Madero. Why, if one
believed half of them, he would be endowed with hoofs and horns, not to
mention a tail with a spike on the end. If either you or Redman or
Jennings wishes to leave the mine, you may. I'll write you a check for
the amount I owe you now."

"Well, you see, sir," began Markley, but Geisler interrupted him
furiously.

"Ach Himmel! Vot are you, a man or a Strassbourg pie? Donnervetter!
Go! Raus! gedt oudt! Vamoose!"

"Sir," began Markley, turning to Mr. Merrill from this furious storm of
abuse.

But his employer had taken out his check-book and fountain pen, and
seemed intent upon making out the pink slips. Markley, baffled, turned
with a red face toward Geisler.

"It's all right for you to talk," he said in an aggrieved tone, "but we
are all young fellows. We have our careers in front of us. We want to
make something of ourselves----"

"Ach!" broke out the German explosively, waving his pipe about angrily,
"make deaders of yourselfs. Dot is vot you shouldt do. Go on. Dere
are your pay checks. Take dem, und gedt oudt."

Glad enough to escape, Markley hastily thanked his employer, and,
snatching up the pink slips, made for the door. Outside, Redman and
Jennings were waiting.

"Come on," said Jennings, as Markley waved the checks, "let's get out
of here. Old Madero may be along at any minute, and they say he hangs
you up by the thumbs, and----"

Their voices died out, as they hurried off to pack their belongings,
after which they made off for the nearest town, some ten miles away to
the southeast.

"Veil," began the explosive Teuton, as their voices died away, "dere
iss dree vine specimens--nodt by no means."

"You can hardly blame them for looking out for their own interests,"
rejoined Mr. Merrill. "It isn't everybody who, like you, would stick
by his employer at the risk of his neck."

"You is more dan my employer, py chiminy, you voss mein friendt,"
exclaime