“‘However, by to-morry night,’ says Enright in a whisper, ’or at the worst, by the night after, we’re shore to meet up with this marauder.’

“‘Hesh!’ whispers Peets, at the same time stoppin’ Enright with his hand, ‘he’s out to-night!’

“An’ thar for shore is something like a dim bloo light movin’ across the plains.  Now an’ then, two brighter lights shows in spots like the blazes of candles; them’s the fire eyes the locoed cowboys tells of.  Whatever it is, whether spook or Greaser, it’s quarterin’ the ground like one of these huntin’ dogs.  Its gait is a slow canter.

“‘He’s on the scout,’ says Enright,’ ‘tryin’ to start a steer or two in the dark; but he ain’t located none yet.’

“Enright an’ Peets slides to the ground an’ hobbles their broncos.  They don’t aim to have ’em go swarmin’ over no bluffs in any blindness of a first surprise.  When the ponies is safe, they bends low an’ begins makin’ up towards the ground on which this bloo-shimmerin’ shadow is ha’ntin’ about.  Things comes their way; they has luck.  They’ve done crope about forty rods when the ghost heads for ’em.  They can easy tell he’s comin’, for the fire eyes shows all the time an’ not by fits an’ starts as former.  As the bloo shimmer draws nearer they makes out the vague shadows of a man on a hoss.  Son, she’s shore plenty ghostly as a vision, an’ Enright allows later, it’s no marvel the punchers vamoses sech scenes.

“‘How about it,’ whispers Peets; ‘shall I do the shootin’?’

“‘Which your eyes is younger,’ says Enright.  ‘You cut loose; an’ I’ll stand by to back the play.  Only aim plenty low.  You can’t he’p over-shootin’ in the dark.  Hold as low as his stirrup.’

“Peets pulls himse’f up straight as a saplin’ an’ runs his left hand along the bar’l as far as his arm’ll reach.  An’ he hangs long on the aim as shootin’ in the dark ain’t no cinch.  If this ghost is a bright ghost it would be easy.  But he ain’t; he’s bloo an’ dim like washed out moonlight, or when it’s jest gettin’ to be dawn.  Enright’s twenty yards to one side so as to free himse’f of Peet’s smoke in case he has to make a second shot.

“But Peets calls the turn.  With the crack of that Sharp’s of his, the ghost sets up sech a screech it proves he ain’t white an’ also that he’ll live through the evenin’s events.  As the spectre yelps, the bloo cayouse goes over on its head an’ neck an’ then falls dead on its side.  The lead which only smashes the spectre’s knee to splinters goes plumb through the pony’s heart.

“As Peets foresees, the ghost ain’t none other than the wise little Jose Miguel, schoolmaster, who’s up on drugs an’ chemicals.  The bloo glimmer is phosphorus; an’ the fire eyes is two of these little old lamps like miners packs in their caps.

“Enright an’ Peets strolls up; this Miguel is groanin’ an’ mournin’ an’ cryin’ ‘Marie, Madre de Dios!’ When he sees who downs him, he drags himse’f to Enright an’ begs a heap abject for his life.  With that, Enright silently lets down the hammer of his rifle.