circle, flagging them. Several times Cushion lay flat, and we thought
he was going to risk a long shot. Then he would crawl forward like a
cat, but finally came to his knee. We saw the little puff, the band
squatted, jumping to one side far enough to show one of their number
down and struggling in the throes of death.

"Good long shot, little man," said the sergeant, "and you may have the
choice of cuts, just so I get a rib."

We saw Conajo mount and ride up on a gallop, but we held our course
for the grove. We were busy making camp when the two rode in with a
fine two-year-old buck across the pommel of Cushion's saddle. They
had only disemboweled him, but Conajo had the heart as a trophy of the
accuracy of the shot, though Cushion hadn't a word to say. It was
a splendid heart shot. Conajo took it over and showed it to the two
Mexican prisoners. It was an object lesson to them. One said to the
other, "Es un buen tirador."

We put the prisoners to roasting the ribs, and making themselves
useful in general. One man guarded them at their work, while all the
others attended to the hobbling and other camp duties.

It proved to be a delightful camp. We aimed to stay until sunset, the
days being sultry and hot. Our appetites were equal to the breakfast,
and it was a good one.

"To do justice to an occasion like this," said Smoky as he squatted
down with about four ribs in his hand, "a man by rights ought to have
at least three fingers of good liquor under his belt. But then we
can't have all the luxuries of life in the far West; sure to be