On the next afternoon, as they were picking their way through a tangle of ocatilla among the foothills, Johnson burst into full-throated song—
Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee,
Where the wild ki-yotes will howl o'er me—
Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the wind blows free—
"For the love of God!" said Baptismo. "Stop that song!"
CHAPTER XXXV
THE DEATH DICE
He was shaking as with a chill, although the perspiration stood out on chin and forehead. On hearing this Lafe glanced in his direction and asked, good-naturedly enough, what was the matter.
"Nothing," said the half-breed quickly, "only you haven't sung anything else in two days but that song, and my nerves ain't good after the time we had at the ranch."
Several times in the course of the evening, as the outfit loafed in camp after supper, the boss had occasion to pass Baptismo where he lay by the fire. Each time he either hummed or whistled a line of "The Dying Cowboy."
Johnson had spread his tarp about thirty yards removed from his men. He was a very light sleeper, accustomed to wake at least once in the course of the night to look all around the camp and make sure that everything was well. Therefore he heard Baptismo when the latter stood over him, and he knew almost what each second of hesitation meant. Had the half-breed moved, the boss would have shot him dead. After an interval, Baptismo turned away and went softly to his own bed.