hills.

"Of course it ain't no time after the sun shows the tracks when
Enright, Jack Moore, an' myse'f is on the trail. Tutt an' Dan Boggs
wants in on the play, but we can't spar' so many from the round-up.

"It's one of the stolen ponies tips this Greaser's hand. It's the
second day, an' we-alls loses the trail for mebby it's fifteen
minutes. We're smellin' along a canyon to find it ag'in, when from
over a p'int of rocks we hears a bronco nicker. He gets the scent of
an acquaintance which Moore's ridin' on, an' says 'How!' pony-
fashion.

"Thar's no need goin' into wearyin' details. Followin' the nicker we
comes surgin' in on our prey, an' it's over in a minute. Thar's two
Mexicans,--our criminal trackin' up with a pard that mornin'. But of
course we-alls knows he's thar long hours back by the tracks, so it
ain't no s'prise.

"This yere second Mexican is downed on the run-in. He shows a heap
of interest in our comin', an' takes to shootin' us up mighty vivid
with a Winchester at the time; an' so Enright, who's close in, jumps
some lead into him an' stretches him. He don't manage to do no harm,
nohow, more'n he creases my hoss a little. However, as this yere
hoss is amazin' low-sperited, an' as bein' burnt that a-way with a
bullet sorter livens him up a heap, I don't complain none. Still
Enright's all-wise enough to copper the Greaser, for thar ain't no
sayin' what luck the felon has with that little old gun of his if he
keeps on shootin'. Which, as I observes, Enright downs him, an' his
powder-burnin' an' hoss-rustlin' stops immediate.