The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Part 39

"You sabe my talk?" queried Pete.

One of the sentries turned to stare at Pete. The Mexican shook his head.

"You're a liar by the watch--and your father was a pig and the son of a pig, wasn't he?" asked Pete, smiling pleasantly.

"Si!" said the Mexican, grinning as though Pete had made a friendly joke.

"And the other fella there, with ears like the barndoor in a wind, he's jest nacherally a horn-toad that likes whiskey and would jest as soon knife his mother as he would eat a rattlesnake for supper, eh?" And Pete smiled engagingly.

"Si. It is to laugh."

"You sabe whiskey?"

The Mexican shook his head.

"You sabe dam' fool?" Pete's manner was serious as though seeking information.

Again the Mexican shook his head.

"He sure don't," said Pete, turning to Brevoort--"or he'd 'a' jest nacherally plugged me. If a Chola don't know what whiskey or dam' fool means, he don't know American."

Meanwhile the two guards had turned to the natural expedient of gambling for Pete's belt and gun. The elaborately carved holster had taken their fancy. Pete and his companion watched them for a while.

Presently Pete attracted Brevoort's attention by moving a finger.

"Hear anything?" he whispered.

"I hear 'em eatin'," said Brevoort. He was afraid to use the word "horses."

Pete nodded. "Speakin' of eatin'--you hungry, Ed?"

"Plumb empty. But I didn't know it till you asked me."

"Well, I been feelin' round in the hay--and right in my corner is a nest full of eggs. There's so doggone many I figure that some of 'em is gettin' kind of ripe. Did you ever git hit in the eye with a ripe egg?"

"Not that I recollect'."

"Well, you would--if you had. Now I don't know what that swelled up gent in there figures on doin' with us. And I don't aim to hang around to find out. These here Cholas is gamblin' for our hosses, right now.

It kind of looks to me like if we stayed round here much longer we ain't goin' to need any hosses or anything else. I worked for a Mexican onct--and I sabe 'em. You got to kind of feel what they mean, and never mind what they are sayin'. Now I got a hunch that we don't get back to the Olla, never--'less we start right now."

"But how in--"

"Wait a minute. I'm goin' to dig round like I was goin' to take a sleep--and find these here eggs. Then I'm goin' to count 'em nacheral, and pile 'em handy to you. Then we rig up a deal like we was gamblin'

for 'em, to kind of pa.s.s the time. If that don't git them two coyotes interested, why, nothin' will. Next to gamblin' a Chola likes to _watch_ gamblin' better 'n 'most anything. When you git to win all my eggs, I make a holler like I'm mad. You been cheatin'. And if them two Cholas ain't settin' with their mouths open and lookin' at us, why, I don't know Cholas. They're listenin' right now--but they don't sabe.

Go ahead and talk like you was askin' me somethin'."

"What's your game after we start beefin' about the eggs?"

"You pick up a couple--and I pick up a couple. First you want to move round so you kin swing your arm. When I call you a doggone bald-face short-horn, jest let your Chola have the eggs plumb in his eye. If they bust like I figure, we got a chanct to jump 'em--but we got to move quick. They's a old single-tree layin' right clost to your elbow, kind of half under the hay. Mebby it'll come handy. I figure to kick my friend in the face when I jump. Do I find them eggs?"

"Dig for 'em," drawled the Texan.

"If we miss the first jump, then they shoot, and that'll be our finish.

But that's a heap better 'n gittin' stood up against a 'dobe wall. I jest found them eggs."

And Pete uttered an exclamation as he drew his hand from the straw behind him, and produced an egg. The Mexicans glanced up. Pete dug in the straw and fetched up another egg--and another. Brevoort leaned forward as though deeply interested in some sleight-of-hand trick. Egg after egg came from the abandoned nest. The Mexicans laughed. The supply of eggs seemed to be endless.

Finally Pete drew out his hand, empty. "Let's count 'em," he said, and straightway began, placing the eggs in a pile midway between himself and his companion. "Twenty-eight. She was a enterprisin' hen."

"I'll match for 'em," said Brevoort, hitching round and facing Pete.

"I'll go you!" And straightway Brevoort and Pete became absorbed in the game, seemingly oblivious to the Mexicans, who sat watching, with open mouths, utterly absorbed in their childish interest. Two Gringoes were gambling for bad eggs.

Pete won for a while. Then he began to lose. "They're ripe all right.

I can tell by the color. Plumb ready to bust. The Cholas sabe that.

Watch 'em grin. They 're waitin' for one of us to bust a egg. That'll be a big joke, and they'll 'most die a-laughin'--'cause it's a joke--and 'cause we're Gringoes."

"Then here's where I bust one," said Brevoort. "Get a couple in your hand. Act like you was chokin' to death. I'll laugh. Then I'll kind of get the smell of that lame egg and stand up quick. Ready?"

"Shoot," said Pete.

Brevoort tossed an egg on the pile. Several of the eggs broke with a faint "plop." Pete wrinkled his nose, and his face expressed such utter astonishment, disgust, even horror, as the full significance of the age of those eggs ascended to him, that he did not need to act his part. He got to his feet and backed away from those eggs, even as Brevoort rose slowly, as though just aware that the eggs were not altogether innocent. The two Mexicans had risen to their knees and rocked back and forth, laughing at the beautiful joke on the Gringoes.

Plop!--Plop!--Plop! and three of the four eggs targeted an accurate twelve o'clock. Pete leaped and kicked viciously. His high heel caught one choking Mexican in the jaw just as Brevoort jumped and swung the single-tree. Pete grabbed up his belt and gun.

Brevoort had no need to strike again.

"You go see if the horses are saddled. I'll watch the door," said Brevoort.

Arguilla was awakened from a heavy sleep by the sound of a shot and the shrill yelp of one of his men. A soldier entered and saluted. "The Americans have gone," he reported.

Arguilla's bloated face went from red to purple, and he reached for his gun which lay on the chair near his bed. But the lieutenant who had reported the escape faced his chief fearlessly.

Arguilla hesitated. "Who guarded them?" he asked hoa.r.s.ely.

The lieutenant named the men.

"Take them out and shoot them--at once."

"But, Senor Comandante, they may not stand. The Americans have beaten them so that they are as dead."

"Then shoot them where they lay--which will be easier to do."

CHAPTER XXIX

QUERY

Far out across the starlit gloom the two thoroughbreds raced side by side. They seemed to know what was required of them. A mile, two miles, three miles, and the night-fire of Arguilla's men was a flickering dot against the black wall of the night.