"Right over there. See that haystack. The greaser's asleep this
side of it. Right under where that saddle is hanging on the fence."

"All right. Come on."

Led by Buck Bellew, whose spurs gave out an occasional jingle, they
crept across the yard. Presently they came upon a dark bundle lying
huddled at the foot of the corral palings.

Bellew stirred the inanimate bundle with his foot. The spurs gave
out a tinkling, musical jingle. The thing moved, stirred and
finally galvanized into life. It was finally revealed as the figure
of a rather ill-favored Mexican, unusually tall for one of his race
who are, as a rule, squat and small.

"Buenas tardes, Juan!" greeted Buck Bellew.

"Buenas tardes, senors," was the response. "But what for do you
disturb me in thees way. Know that to-morrow with the rising of
the sun I have to awake and saddle the beasts, and fare forth into
the alkali with party of gringoes."

"That's all right. That's what we came to talk to you about, Juan,"
said Bellew. He bent low and pushed his face almost into the
Mexican's brown and sleepy countenance.

"Do you know me!" he grated out.

"Todos Santos! Caramba! It is the Senor Bellew!"