WHO TOOK IT
There was persistent neighing on the summit. Concho's horse wanted his breakfast.
This protestation reached the ears of a party ascending the mountain from its western face. To one of the party it was familiar.
“Why, blank it all, that's Chiquita. That d——d Mexican's lying drunk somewhere,” said the President of the B. M. Co.
“I don't like the look of this at all,” said Dr. Guild, as they rode up beside the indignant animal. “If it had been an American, it might have been carelessness, but no Mexican ever forgets his beast. Drive ahead, boys; we may be too late.”
In half an hour they came in sight of the ledge below, the crumbled furnace, and the motionless figure of Concho, wrapped in a blanket, lying prone in the sunlight.
“I told you so,—drunk!” said the President.
The Doctor looked grave, but did not speak. They dismounted and picketed their horses. Then crept on all fours to the ledge above the furnace. There was a cry from Secretary Gibbs, “Look yer. Some fellar has been jumping us, boys. See these notices.”
There were two notices on canvas affixed to the rock, claiming the ground, and signed by Pedro, Manuel, Miguel, Wiles, and Roscommon.
“This was done, Doctor, while your trustworthy Greaser locater,—d—n him,—lay there drunk. What's to be done now?”