What Johnny would like to know was, what had he done that he should be shot at?  He was down there by Cliff Lowell’s invitation—­ Straightway he set off angrily, taking long steps to the cabin and the great oak tree beside it.  The two dogs and five half-naked Mexican children spied him and scattered, the dogs coming at him full tilt, the children scuttling to the cabin.  Johnny swore at the dogs and they did not bite.  He followed the children and they did not stop.  So he came presently to the oak and roused Cliff, who came promptly to an elbow with a wicked looking automatic pointed straight at Johnny’s middle.

“Say, for gosh sake!  I been shot at twice already this morning.  What’s the idea?  I never was gunned so much in my life, and I live in Arizona, that’s supposed to be bad.  What’s the matter with this darned place?”

Cliff tucked the gun out of sight under his blanket, yawned, and lay down again.  “You caught me asleep, old man.  I beg your pardon—­but I have learned in Mexico that it’s best to get the gun first and see who it is after that.  Did you say something about being shot at?”

“I did, but I could say more.  Here I am down here without any gun but that cussed shotgun, and I didn’t have that, even, when I coulda used it handy.  And look what I got, up here on the hill!” He removed his hat and poked two fingers through the two holes in the crown.  “Some movie stuff!  What’s the idea?”

Cliff nearly looked startled.  He called, “Oh, Mateo!” And Mateo came in haste, bent down, and the two murmured together in Mexican.  Afterwards Cliff turned to Johnny with his little smile.

“It’s all right, old man—­glad you weren’t hurt.  It was a mistake, though.  You were a stranger, and it was thought, I suppose, that you were spying on this place.  While it was a close call for you, it proves that we are being well cared for.  Better forget it and turn in.”

He yawned again and turned over so that his back was toward Johnny, and that youth took the hint and departed to find blankets to spread for himself.  He was tired enough to lie down and sleepy enough to sleep, but he could not blandly forget about those bullets as Cliff advised.  There were several things he wanted to know before he would feel perfectly satisfied.

Since the Thunder Bird was not here, why should strangers be shot at?  Their only trouble would be with the guards along the boundary, when they tried to cross back from Mexico.  But they had not tried it yet.  The guards were still happily unaware of how they were going to worry later on, so why the shooting?

“Oh, well, thunder!  They didn’t hit me—­so I should care.  If Cliff wants to set guards around this camp before there’s anything to guard, that’s his business.  Like paying me before I fly, I guess.  He’s got the guards up there practising, maybe.  I should worry; my job’s flying.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN