"Lout!" he cried. "You hear me! Why do you not obey!"

Ned stood impassive. Certainly Urrea had had a bad half hour somewhere.
His temper leaped beyond control.

"Idiot!" he exclaimed.

Then he suddenly lashed Ned across the face with the little riding whip.
The blow fell on serape and sombrero and the flesh was not touched, but
for a few moments Ned went mad. He dropped his rifle, leaped upon the
astonished officer, wrenched the whip from his hands, slashed him across
the cheeks with it until the blood ran in streams, then broke it in two
and threw the pieces in his face. Ned's serape fell away. Urrea had
clasped his hands to his cheeks that stung like fire, but now he
recognized the boy.

"Fulton!" he cried.

The sharp exclamation brought Ned to a realization of his danger. He
seized his rifle, pulled up the serape and sprang back. Already Mexican
soldiers were gathering. It was truly fortunate for Ned that he was
quick of thought, and that his thoughts came quickest when the danger
was greatest. He knew that the cry of "Fulton!" was unintelligible to
them, and he exclaimed:

"Save me, comrades! He tried to beat me without cause, and now he would
kill me, as you see!"

Urrea had drawn a pistol and was shouting fiery Mexican oaths. The
soldiers, some of them just awakened from sleep, and all of them dazed,