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“‘As to brands an’ y’earmarks,’ says the party, a-wipin’ of his eye, ‘he’s shy a couple of teeth, bein’ milk-teeth as he’s shed; an’ thar’s a mark on his for’ard where his mother swipes him with a dipper, that a-way, bringin’ him up proper. That’s all I remembers quick.’

“Mace tells the party to take a cinch on his feelin’s, an’ stampedes over to the Mexican part of camp, which is called Chilili, on a scout for the boy. Whatever do you-all reckon’s become of him, son? I’m a wolf if a Mexican ain’t somehow cut him out of the herd an’ stole him. Takes him in, same as you mavericks a calf. Why in the name of hoss-stealin’ he ever yearns for that young-one is allers too many for me.

“When the abductor hears how Mace is on his trail, which he does from other Mexicans, he swings onto his bronco an’ begins p’intin’ out, takin’ boy an’ all. But Mace has got too far up on him, an’ stops him mighty handy with a rifle. Mace could work a Winchester like you’d whirl a rope, an’ the way he gets a bullet onder that black-an’-tan’s left wing don’t worry him a little bit. The bullet tears a hole through his lungs, an’ the same bein’ no further use for him to breathe with, he comes tumblin’ like a shot pigeon, bringin’ the party’s offspring with him.

“Which this yere is almighty flatterin’ to Mace as a shot, an’ it plumb tickles the boy’s sire. He allows he’s lived in Arkansaw, an’ shorely knows good shootin’, an’ this yere’s speshul good. An’ then he corrals the Greaser’s skelp to take back with him.

“‘It’ll come handy to humor up the old woman with, when I gets back to camp,’ he says; so he tucks the skelp into his war-bags an’ thanks Mace for the interest he takes in his household.

“‘That’s all right,’ says Mace; ‘no trouble to curry a little short hoss like that.’

“He shakes hands with the Arkansaw gent, an’ we-alls rounds up to Bob Step’s an’ gets a drink.

“But the cat has quite a tail jest the same. A Mexican that a-way is plenty oncertain. For instance: You’re settin’ in on a little game of monte all free an’ sociable, an’ one of ’em comes crowdin’ ’round for trouble, an’ you downs him. All good enough, says you. No other Mexican seems like he wants to assoome no pressure personal; no one goes browsin’ ’round to no sheriff; an’ thar you be deluded into theeries that said killin’s quit bein’ a question. That’s where you- all is the victim of error.

“Which in this case the Mexican Mace stretches has uncles or somethin’ down off Chaperita. Them relatives is rich. In a week–no one never saveys how–everybody knows that thar’s five thousand dollars up for the first party who kills Mace. I speaks to him about it myse’f, allowin’ he’d oughter be careful how he goes spraddlin’ about permiscus. Mebby, when he’s lookin’ north some time, somebody gets him from the south.

“‘I ain’t worryin’ none,’ says Mace; ‘I ain’t got no friends as would down me, nohow; an’ my enemies ain’t likely none to think it’s enough dinero. Killin’ me is liable to come mighty high.’

“After which announcements he goes romancin’ along in his cheerful, light-hearted way, drinkin’ his whiskey an’ bein’ sheriff, mingled, an’ in a week or so we-alls begins to forget about them rewards. One day a little Mexican girl who Mace calls Bonita–she’d shorely give a hoss for a smile from him any time–scouts over an’ whispers to Mace as how three Greasers from down around Anton Chico is in camp on a hunt for his ha’r. Them murderers is out for the five thousand; they’s over in Chilili right then.

“‘Whereabouts in Chilili be them Mexicans?’ asks Mace, kinder interested.

“‘Over camped in old Santa Anna’s dance. hall, a-drinkin’ of mescal an’ waitin’ for dark,’ says the girl.