Raw furrows showed in
the woodwork, one mule was missing and the driver and guard wore fresh
bandages. A tired tenderfoot leaped out with a sigh of relief and
hunted for his baggage, which he found to be generously perforated.
Swearing at the God-forsaken land where a man had to fight highwaymen
and Indians inside of half a day he grumblingly lugged his valise
toward a forbidding-looking shack which was called a hotel.
The driver released his teams and then turned to Red. "Hullo, old
hoss, how's th' gang?" he asked genially. "We've had a heck of a time
this yere trip," he went on without waiting for Red to reply. "Five
miles out of Las Cruces we stood off a son-of-a-gun that wanted th'
dude's wealth. Then just this side of the San Andre foothills we runs
into a bunch of young bucks who turned us off this yere way an' gave
us a runnin' fight purty near all th' way. I'm a whole lot farther
from Paso now than I was when I started, an seem as I lost a jack I'll
be some time gittin' there. Yu don't happen to sabe a jack I can
borrow, do yu?"
"I don't know about no jack, but I'll rope yu a bronch," offered
Red, winking at Johnny.
"I'll pull her myself before I'll put dynamite in di' traces,"
replied the driver. "Yu fellers might amble back a ways with me-them
buddin' warriors'll be layin' for me."
"We shore will," responded Johnny eagerly.
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