"`The bean I brings to the surface is white. I'm pale as a ghost. My
heart wilts like water inside of me, an' I feels white as the bean
where it lays in my hand. Of course I'm some young them days, an' it
don't need so much to stagger me. "`I recollects like it was in a
vision hearin' Jim laugh. "Sam," he says, "I reads you like so much
sunshine. An' I shorely fools you up a lot. Don't you reckon I
allows you'll double on the trail, p'intin' south if I says 'north'
at a show like this? The white bean is allers a rough, sandy bean;
allers was an' allers will be; an' never let no one fool you that a-
way ag'in. An' now, Sam, ADIOS."

"'I'm standin' lookin' at the white bean. I feels Jim grip my other
hand as lie says "ADIOS," an' the next is the" bang! "of the
Mexicans's guns. Jim's dead then; he's out in a second; never bats
an eye nor wags a y'ear.

"'Which now,' says Enright at the end, as he yanks his saddle 'round
so he makes a place for his head, 'which now that you-alls is fully
informed why I appears averse to Greasers, I reckons I'll slumber
some. I never does see one, I don't think of that boy, Jim Willis;
an' I never thinks of Jim but I wants to murder a Mexican.'

"Enright don't say no more; sorter rolls up in his blankets, drops
his head on his saddle, an' lays a long time quiet, like he's
asleep. Jack Moore an' me ain't sayin' nothin'; merely settin' thar
peerin' into the fire an' listenin' to the coyotes. At last Enright
lifts his head off the saddle.

"'Mebby it's twenty years ago when a party over on the Rio Grande