“What’s the idee—­” began Pete, but the noble captain waved his hand, dismissing all argument, along with the sentries, who marched their prisoners to the stable and told them plainly that they had much rather shoot them than be bothered with watching them; a hint that Pete translated for Brevoort’s benefit.

One of the sentries lighted a dusty lantern and, placing it on the floor of a box stall, relieved his captives of their belts and guns.  The sentries squatted at the open end of the stall and talked together while Brevoort and Pete sat each in a corner staring at the lantern.

Presently Brevoort raised his head.  “Find out if either of ’em sabe American talk,” he whispered.

“You sabe my talk?” queried Pete.

One of the sentries turned to stare at Pete.  The Mexican shook his head.

“You’re a liar by the watch—­and your father was a pig and the son of a pig, wasn’t he?” asked Pete, smiling pleasantly.

“Si!” said the Mexican, grinning as though Pete had made a friendly joke.

“And the other fella there, with ears like the barndoor in a wind, he’s jest nacherally a horn-toad that likes whiskey and would jest as soon knife his mother as he would eat a rattlesnake for supper, eh?” And Pete smiled engagingly.

“Si.  It is to laugh.”

“You sabe whiskey?”

The Mexican shook his head.

“You sabe dam’ fool?” Pete’s manner was serious as though seeking information.

Again the Mexican shook his head.

“He sure don’t,” said Pete, turning to Brevoort—­“or he’d ‘a’ jest nacherally plugged me.  If a Chola don’t know what whiskey or dam’ fool means, he don’t know American.”

Meanwhile the two guards had turned to the natural expedient of gambling for Pete’s belt and gun.  The elaborately carved holster had taken their fancy.  Pete and his companion watched them for a while.

Presently Pete attracted Brevoort’s attention by moving a finger.  “Hear anything?” he whispered.

“I hear ’em eatin’,” said Brevoort.  He was afraid to use the word “horses.”

Pete nodded.  “Speakin’ of eatin’—­you hungry, Ed?”

“Plumb empty.  But I didn’t know it till you asked me.”

“Well, I been feelin’ round in the hay—­and right in my corner is a nest full of eggs.  There’s so doggone many I figure that some of ’em is gettin’ kind of ripe.  Did you ever git hit in the eye with a ripe egg?”

“Not that I recollect’.”

“Well, you would—­if you had.  Now I don’t know what that swelled up gent in there figures on doin’ with us.  And I don’t aim to hang around to find out.  These here Cholas is gamblin’ for our hosses, right now.  It kind of looks to me like if we stayed round here much longer we ain’t goin’ to need any hosses or anything else.  I worked for a Mexican onct—­and I sabe ’em.  You got to kind of feel what they mean, and never mind what they are sayin’.  Now I got a hunch that we don’t get back to the Olla, never—­’less we start right now.”