"Yi-yi!" howled Rattlesnake, roaring with laughter and ducking his
head, "somebody git this here sour-krout off'n me!"

One of the band yanked Fritz back by the coat-tail, and the woods rang
with Rattlesnake's vociferous comments.

"The dog-goned little wienerwurst," he yelled, amiably. "He's not so
much of a skunk, for a Dutchman. Took up for his animile plum quick,
didn't he? I like to see a man like his hoss, even if it is a mule.
The dad-blamed little Limburger he went for me, didn't he! Whoa, now,
muley--I ain't a-goin' to hurt your mouth agin any more."

Perhaps the mail would not have been tampered with had not Ben Moody,
the lieutenant, possessed certain wisdom that seemed to promise more
spoils.

"Say, Cap," he said, addressing Hondo Bill, "there's likely to be good
pickings in these mail sacks. I've done some hoss tradin' with these
Dutchmen around Fredericksburg, and I know the style of the varmints.
There's big money goes through the mails to that town. Them Dutch risk
a thousand dollars sent wrapped in a piece of paper before they'd pay
the banks to handle the money."

Hondo Bill, six feet two, gentle of voice and impulsive in action, was
dragging the sacks from the rear of the wagon before Moody had
finished his speech. A knife shone in his hand, and they heard the
ripping sound as it bit through the tough canvas. The outlaws crowded
around and began tearing open letters and packages, enlivening their
labours by swearing affably at the writers, who seemed to have