cinto day in San Antone.
There's a thousand folks milling around in a kind of a roofed-over
plaza with marble pavements and trees growing right out of 'em, and I
see no more chance of finding Luke than if we was hunting each other
in the big pear flat down below Old Fort Ewell. But soon Luke and me
runs together in one of the turns of them marble alleys.

"'It ain't no use, Bud,' says he. 'I can't find no place to eat at.
I've been looking for restaurant signs and smelling for ham all over
the camp. But I'm used to going hungry when I have to. Now,' says he,
'I'm going out and get a hack and ride down to the address on this
Scudder card. You stay here and try to hustle some grub. But I doubt
if you'll find it. I wish we'd brought along some cornmeal and bacon
and beans. I'll be back when I see this Scudder, if the trail ain't
wiped out.'

"So I starts foraging for breakfast. For the honour of old Mojada
County I didn't want to seem green to them abolitionists, so every
time I turned a corner in them marble halls I went up to the first
desk or counter I see and looks around for grub. If I didn't see what
I wanted I asked for something else. In about half an hour I had
a dozen cigars, five story magazines, and seven or eight railroad
time-tables in my pockets, and never a smell of coffee or bacon to
point out the trail.

"Once a lady sitting at a table and playing a game kind of like
pushpin told me to go into a closet that she called Number 3. I went
in and shut the door, and the blamed thing lit itself up. I set down
on a stool before a shelf and waited. Thinks I, 'This is a private
dining-room.' But no waiter never came. When I got to sweating good
and hard, I goes out again.

"'Did you get what you wanted?' says she.

"'No, ma'am,' says I. 'Not a bite.'

"'Then there's no charge,' says she.

"'Thanky, ma'am,' says I, and I takes up the trail again.

"By and by I thinks I'll shed etiquette; and I picks up one of them
boys with blue clothes and yellow buttons in front, and he leads me to
what he calls the caffay breakfast room. And the first thing I lays my
eyes on when I go in is that boy that had shot Pedro Johnson. He was
setting all alone at a little table, hitting a egg with a spoon like
he was afraid he'd break it.

"I takes the chair across the table from him; and he looks insulted
and makes a move like he was going to get up.

"'Keep still, son,' says I. 'You're apprehended, arrested, and in
charge