“It’s the next day, an’ Peets an’ Enright is organised in the ha’nted sign-camp of the Bar-B-8.  Also, they’ve been lookin’ round.  By ridin’ along onder the face of the precipice, they comes, one after t’other, on what little is left of the dead steers.  What strikes ’em as a heap pecooliar is that thar’s no bones or horns.  Two or three of the hoofs is kickin’ about, an’ Enright picks up one the coyotes overlooks.  It shows it’s been cut off at the fetlock j’int by a knife.

“‘This spectre,’ says Enright, passin’ the hoof to Peets, ’packs a bowie; an’ he likewise butchers his prey.  Also, ondoubted, he freights the meat off some’ers to his camp, which is why we don’t notice no big bones layin’ ‘round loose.’  Then Enright scans the grass mighty scroopulous; an’ shore enough! thar’s plenty of pony tracks printed into the soil.  ‘That don’t look so soopernacheral neither,’ says Enright, p’intin’ to the hoof-prints.

“‘Them’s shorely made by a flesh an’ blood pony,’ says Peets.  ‘An’ from their goin’ some deep into the ground, I dedooces that said cayouse is loaded down with what weight of beef an’ man it can stagger onder.’

“That evenin’ over their grub Enright an’ Peets discusses the business.  Thar’s a jimcrow Mexican plaza not three miles off in the hills.  Both of ’em is aware of this hamlet, an’ Peets, partic’lar, is well acquainted with a old Mexican sharp who lives thar—­he’s a kind o’ schoolmaster among ’em—­who’s mighty cunnin’ an’ learned.  His name is Jose Miguel.

“‘An’ I’m beginnin’ to figger,’ says Peets, ’that this ghostly rider is the foxy little Jose Miguel.  Which I’ve frequent talked with him; an’ he saveys enough about drugs an’ chemicals to paint up with phosphorus an’ go surgin’ about an’ stampedin’ cattle over bluffs.  It’s a mighty good idee from his standp’int.  He can argue that the cattle kills themse’fs—­sort o’ commits sooicide inadvertent—­an’ if we-all trades up on him with the beef, he insists on his innocence, an’ puts it up that his cuttin’ in on the play after said cattle done slays themse’fs injures nobody but coyotes.’

“‘Doc,’ coincides Enright, after roominatin’ in silence, ’Doc, the longer I ponders, the more them theories seems sagacious.  That enterprisin’ Greaser is jest about killin’ my beef an’ sellin’ it to the entire plaza.  Not only does this ghost play opp’rate to stampede the cattle an’ set ’em runnin’ cimmaron an’ locoed so they’ll chase over the cliffs to their ends, but it serves to scare my cow-punchers off the range, which last, ondoubted, this Miguel looks on as a deesideratum.  However, it’s goin’ to be good an’ dark to-night, an’ if we-all has half luck I reckons that we fixes him.’

“It’s full two hours after midnight an’ while thar’s stars overhead thar’s no moon; along the top of the mesa it’s as dark as the inside of a jug.  Peets an’ Enright is Injunin’ about on the prowl for the ghost.  They don’t much reckon it’ll be abroad, as mebby the plaza has beef enough.