surging by the _Topila_ in such scandalous fashion!"

Peter, a Texas-born Swede of immigrant parents, filled with the old
Texas traditions, greasily shook hands with Wemple and Davies as well,
saying "Howdy," as only the Texan born can say it.

"Me," he answered Habert. "I ain't hellbent nowhere exceptin' to get
away from the shell-fire. She's a caution, that _Topila_. Huh! but
I limbered 'em up some. I was goin' every inch of twenty-five. They was
like amateurs blazin' away at canvasback."

"Which _Chill_ is it?" Wemple asked.

"_Chill II_," Peter answered. "It's all that's left. _Chill I_
a Greaser--you know 'm--Campos--commandeered this noon. I was runnin'
_Chill III_ when they caught me at sundown. Made me come in under
their guns at the East Coast outfit, and fired me out on my neck.

"Now the boss'd gone over in this one to Tampico in the early evening,
and just about ten minutes ago I spots it landin' with a sousy bunch of
Federals at the East Coast, and swipes it back according. Where's the
boss? He ain't hurt, is he? Because I'm going after him."

"No, you're not, Peter," Davies said. "Mr. Frisbie is safe at the
Southern Hotel, all except a five-inch scalp wound from a brick that's
got him down with a splitting headache. He's safe, so you're going with
us, going to take us, I mean, up beyond Panuco town."

"Huh?--I can see myself," Peter retorted, wiping his greasy nose on a
wad of greasy cotton waste. "I got some cold. Besides, this