with his boot. "Thar was two of 'em. They knifed one of your men. T'other
cleared, he did. I was comin' in afoot. I had a notion of suthin' goin'
on, 'n' left the critters out thar, with the rancheros, 'n' stole in. Got
in just in time to pop the cuss that had you. T'other un vamosed."

"Oh, the villains!" shrieked Coronado, excited at the thought of his
narrow escape. "This is the way they keep their treaties."

"Mought be these a'n't the same," observed Texas. "Some 'Patchies is wild,
'n' live separate, like bachelor beavers."

Coronado stooped and examined the dead Indian. He was a miserable object,
naked, except a ragged, filthy breech-clout, his figure gaunt, and his
legs absolutely scaly with dirt, starvation, and hard living of all sorts.
He might well be one of those outcasts who are in disfavor with their
savage brethren, lead a precarious existence outside of the tribal
organization, and are to the Apaches what the Texas Smiths are to decent
Americans.

"One of the bachelor-beaver sort, you bet," continued Texas. "Don't run
with the rest of the crowd."

"And there's that infernal coward of a ranchero," cried Coronado, as the
runaway sentry sneaked back to the group. "You cursed poltroon, why didn't
you give the alarm? Why didn't you fight?"

He struck the man, pulled his long hair, threw him down, kicked him, and
spat on him. Texas Smith looked on with an approving grin, and suggested,
"Better shute the dam cuss."