"Begorra, we'll have to soak the persistint gint in the neck!" burst from the young Irishman.
Murillo backed away a bit, and his hand came forth from his bosom. It grasped a small shining revolver.
"Touch me, you gringo curs, and I'll keel you!" he threatened.
A stalky, broad-shouldered young man, wearing a broad-brimmed Stetson hat, came down the aisle behind the Mexican. There was a certain breezy, Western air about this broad-hatted stranger. He gave one sharp look at Murillo, and a moment later he had the threatening Mexican in a grip of iron. One of the stranger's hands shot over Murillo's shoulder and grasped the revolver, turning the muzzle toward the roof of the car.
"A popgun like that is a whole lot dangerous for fools to play with," observed this person who had interrupted. "You ought to be turned over some one's knee and spanked a-plenty. That's whatever!"
"Great Juniper!" squawked Ephraim Gallup, flourishing his arms with a wild gesture of delight. "It's Buck—it's old Buck, by gum!"
"Hooroo, Badger, me bhoy!" laughed Barney. "Wherever did yez come from so suddint, Oi dunno?"
"In truth, it is my old college mate from Kansas!" breathed Carker.
Badger had twisted the pistol out of Murillo's fingers, with one hand while he easily held the Mexican helpless with the other hand. Badger was a big man. He stood six feet tall, and every inch of him was put up for strength and endurance. He was a fine-looking man, too, bronzed and weather-beaten, as if he had seen much outdoor life, yet having a certain atmosphere of ease and refinement about him which proclaimed him no ordinary cow-puncher or laborer. There was command and self-confidence in every glance of his eyes, in every movement of his person. In spite of his youth, a critical, discerning stranger would have pronounced him a man of much experience who feared nothing made of flesh and blood.
Murillo snarled at the Kansan in Spanish: