of repair.  Bring him back in the morning.’  I took the old man back to the hotel, and we had a jolly good time together that day.  I never put a string on him, only locked the door, but we slept together.  The next morning I took him before the alcalde.  Bean held court in an outhouse, the prisoner seated on a bale of flint hides.  Bean was not only judge but prosecutor, as well as counsel for the defense.  ’Killed a Chinaman, did you?’

“‘I did, yer Honor,’ was the prisoner’s reply.

“I suggested to the court that the prisoner be informed of his rights, that he need not plead guilty unless he so desired.

“‘That makes no difference here,’ said the court.  ’Gentlemen, I’m busy this morning.  I’ve got to raise the piping out of a two-hundred-foot well to-day,—­something the matter with the valve at the bottom.  I’ll just glance over the law a moment.’

“He rummaged over a book or two for a few moments and then said, ’Here, I reckon this is near enough.  I find in the revised statute before me, in the killing of a nigger the offending party was fined five dollars.  A Chinaman ought to be half as good as a nigger.  Stand up and receive your sentence.  What’s your name?’

“‘Jerry McKay, your Honor.’

“Just then the court noticed one of the vaqueros belonging to the ranch standing in the door, hat in hand, and he called to him in Spanish, ‘Have my horse ready, I’ll be through here just in a minute.’

“‘McKay,’ said the court as he gave him a withering look, ’I’ll fine you two dollars and a half and costs.  Officer, take charge of the prisoner until it’s paid!’ It took about ten dollars to cover everything, which I paid, McKay returning it when he reached his camp.  Whoever named that alcalde ‘Law west of the Pecos’ knew his man.”

“I’ll bet a twist of dog,” said Ramrod, “that prisoner with the black whiskers sabes English.  Did you notice him paying strict attention to Smoky’s little talk?  He reminds me of a fellow that crouched behind his horse at the fight we had on the head of the Arroyo Colorado and plugged me in the shoulder.  What, you never heard of it?  That’s so, Cushion hasn’t been with us but a few months.  Well, it was in ’82, down on the river, about fifty miles northwest of Brownsville.  Word came in one day that a big band of horse-thieves were sweeping the country of every horse they could gather.  There was a number of the old Cortina’s gang known to be still on the rustle.  When this report came, it found eleven men in camp.  We lost little time saddling up, only taking five days’ rations with us, for they were certain to recross the river before that time in case we failed to intercept them.  Every Mexican in the country was terrorized.  All they could tell us was that there was plenty of ladrones and lots of horses, ‘muchos’ being the qualifying word as to the number of either.