When Ramrod had finished his narrative, he was compelled to submit to a cross-examination at the hands of Cushion-foot, for he delighted in a skirmish.  All his questions being satisfactorily answered, Cushion-foot drew up his saddle alongside of where Ramrod lay stretched on a blanket, and seated himself.  This was a signal to the rest of us that he had a story, so we drew near, for he spoke so low that you must be near to hear him.  His years on the frontier were rich in experience, though he seldom referred to them.

Addressing himself to Ramrod, he began:  “You might live amongst these border Mexicans all your life and think you knew them; but every day you live you’ll see new features about them.  You can’t calculate on them with any certainty.  What they ought to do by any system of reasoning they never do.  They will steal an article and then give it away.  You’ve heard the expression ‘robbing Peter to pay Paul.’  Well, my brother played the role of Paul once himself.  It was out in Arizona at a place called Las Palomas.  He was a stripling of a boy, but could palaver Spanish in a manner that would make a Mexican ashamed of his ancestry.  He was about eighteen at this time and was working in a store.  One morning as he stepped outside the store, where he slept, he noticed quite a commotion over around the custom-house.  He noticed that the town was full of strangers, as he crossed over toward the crowd.  He was suddenly halted and searched by a group of strange men.  Fortunately he had no arms on him, and his ability to talk to them, together with his boyish looks, ingratiated him in their favor, and they simply made him their prisoner.  Just at that moment an alcalde rode up to the group about him, and was ordered to halt.  He saw at a glance they were revolutionists, and whirling his mount attempted to escape, when one of them shot him from his horse.  The young fellow then saw what he was into.

“They called themselves Timochis.  They belonged in Mexico, and a year or so before they refused to pay taxes that the Mexican government levied on them, and rebelled.  Their own government sent soldiers after them, resulting in about eight hundred soldiers being killed, when they dispersed into small bands, one of which was paying Las Palomas a social call that morning.  Along the Rio Grande it is only a short step at best from revolution to robbery, and either calling has its variations.

“Well, they took my brother with them to act as spokesman in looting the town.  The custom-house was a desired prize, and when my brother interpreted their desires to the collector, he consented to open the safe, as life had charms for him, even in Arizona.  Uncle Sam’s strong-box yielded up over a thousand dobes.  They turned their attention to the few small stores of the town, looting them of the money and goods as they went.  There was quite a large store kept by a Frenchman, who refused to open, when he realized that the Timochi was honoring the town