The Mexican saw him, but marking his small size and mild manner did
not flinch from his position. With one revolver still leveled at the
girls he drew another from a hip pocket and turned it upon Wampus.

"You stop--halt!" he exclaimed fiercely.

Wampus did not halt. His eyes fixed upon the bandit's ugly features,
still puffing his cigar and with hands in his pockets he walked
deliberately past Patsy and Beth and straight up to the muzzles of the
revolvers.

"Stop!" cried the Mexican; and again: "Stop!"

Wampus stopped when one revolver nearly touched his nose and another
covered his body. Slowly he drew one hand from his pocket and grasped
the barrel of the nearest weapon.

"Let him go," he said, not raising his voice. The man stared into the
little chauffeur's eyes and released his hold of the revolver. Wampus
looked at it, grunted, and put it in his pocket.

"Now the other gun," he said.

The fellow drew back and half turned, as if to escape.

"No, no!" said Wampus, as if annoyed. "You give me gun. See--I am
Wampus!"

Sheepishly enough the Mexican surrendered the other weapon.