"Now you are worse off than ever," said the young man, dry-voiced and .
"No, I ain't," said Bill . "I'm one ahead."
After reflection, the stranger remarked, "Well, there's seven more."
They were cautiously and slowly approaching the camp. The sun was its first warming rays over the grey . Upreared , prominent branches, shone with golden light, while the shadows under the mesquit were heavily blue.
Suddenly the stranger uttered a frightened cry. He had arrived at a point whence he had, through openings in the , a clear view of a dead face.
"Gosh!" said Bill, who at the next instant had seen the thing; "I thought at first it was that there José. That would have been queer, after what I told 'im yesterday."
They continued their way, the stranger in his walk, and Bill exhibiting considerable curiosity.
The yellow beams of the new sun were the grim of the dead Mexican's face, and creating there an effect, which made his more like a mask of dulled . One hand, grown thinner, had been flung out regardlessly to a bush.
Bill walked forward and stood looking respectfully at the body. "I know that feller; his name is Miguel. He——"
The stranger's nerves might have been in that condition when there is no to the body, only a long . "Good heavens!" he exclaimed, much ; "don't speak that way!"
"What way?" said Bill. "I only said his name was Miguel."
After a pause the stranger said:
"Oh, I know; but——" He waved his hand. "Lower your voice, or something. I don't know. This part of the business me, don't you see?"
"Oh, all right," replied Bill, bowing to the other's mysterious mood. But in a moment he burst out violently and loud in the most extraordinary profanity, the oaths winging from him as the sparks go from the .
He had been examining the contents of the bundled grey blanket, and he had brought , among other things, his frying-pan. It was now only a with a handle; the Mexican volley had centered upon it. A Mexican shot-gun of the description is ordinarily loaded with flat-irons, stove-lids, lead pipe, old horseshoes, sections of chain, window weights, railroad and , dumb-bells, and any other junk which may be at hand. When one of these loads encounters a man vitally, it is likely to make an impression upon him, and a cooking-utensil may be supposed to before such an assault of curiosities.
Bill held high his frying-pan, turning it this way and that way. He swore until he happened to note the absence of the stranger. A moment later he saw him leading his horse from the bushes. In silence and the young man went about saddling the animal. Bill said, "Well, goin' to pull out?"
The stranger's hands uncertainly at the throat-latch. Once he exclaimed , blaming the for the trembling of his fingers. Once he turned to look at the dead face with the light of the morning sun upon it. At last he cried, "Oh, I know the whole thing was all square enough—couldn't be squarer—but—somehow or other, that man there takes the heart out of me." He turned his troubled face for another look. "He seems to be all the time calling me a—he makes me feel like a murderer."
"But," said Bill, puzzling, "you didn't shoot him, mister; I shot him."
"I know; but I feel that way, somehow. I can't get rid of it."
Bill considered for a tim............