“Go along with ’em and see that they get the right horse,” said the collector.

The assistant hesitated.

The collector laughed.  “Shake hands with Jim Waring, Jack.”

When the assistant had gone, the collector turned to Waring.  “That’s Jack every time.  Stubborn as a tight boot, but good leather every time.  Know why he wanted to shake hands?  Well, that’s his way of tellin’ you he thinks you’re some smooth for not pullin’ a fight when it looked like nothing else was on the bill.”

Waring smiled.  “I’ve met you before, haven’t I?”

Pat pretended to ignore the question.  “Say, stranger,” he began with slow emphasis, “you’re makin’ mighty free and familiar for a prisoner arrested for smuggling.  Mebby you’re all right personal, but officially I got a case against you.  What do you know about raising cucumbers?  I got a catalogue in the office, and me and Jack has been aiming to raise cucumbers from it for three months.  I like ’em.  Jack says you can’t do it down here without water every day.  Now—­”

“Where have you planted them, Pat?”

“Oh, hell!  They ain’t planted yet.  We’re just figuring.  Now, up Las Cruces way—­”

“Let’s go back to the cantina and talk it out.  There goes Mexico leading a horse with an empty saddle.  I guess the boy will be all right in the office.”

“Was the kid mixed up in your getaway?”

“Yes.  And he’s a good boy.”

“Well, he’s in dam’ bad company.  Now, Jack says you got to plant ’em in hills and irrigate.  I aim to just drill ’em in and let the A’mighty do the rest.  What do you think?”

“I think you’re getting worse as you grow older, Pat.  Say, did you ever get track of that roan mare you lost up at Las Cruces?”

“Yes, I got her back.”

“Speaking of horses, I saw a pinto down in Sonora—­”

Just then the assistant joined them, and they sauntered to the cantina.  Dex, tied at the rail, turned and gazed at them.  Waring took the morral of grain from the saddle, and, slipping Dex’s bridle, adjusted it.

The rugged, lean face of the collector beamed.  “I wondered if you thought as much of ’em as you used to.  I aimed to see if I could make you forget to feed that cayuse.”

“How about those goats in your own corral?” laughed Waring.

“Kind of a complimentary cuss, ain’t he?” queried Pat, turning to his assistant.  “And he don’t know a dam’ thing about cucumbers.”

“You old-timers give me a pain,” said the assistant, grinning.

“That’s right!  Because you can’t set down to a meal without both your hands and feet agoing and one ear laid back, you call us old because we chew slow.  But you’re right.  Jim and I are getting kind of gray around the ears.”

“Well, you fellas can fight it out.  I came over to say that them rurales got their hoss.  But one of ’em let it slip, in Mexican, that they weren’t through yet.”