"Want to meet Waring?" he queried.
"I'm on for the next dance, Pat."
The collector stepped out. Waring reined up. A stray breeze fluttered the flag above the custom-house. Waring gravely lifted his sombrero.
"You're under arrest," said the collector.
Waring gestured toward Ramon.
"You, too," nodded Pat. "Get the kid and his horse out of sight," he told the assistant.
Ramon, too weary to expostulate, followed the assistant to a corral back of the building.
The collector turned to Waring. "And now, Jim, what's the row?"
"Down the street—and coming," said Waring, as the rurales boiled from the cantina.
"We'll meet 'em halfway," said the collector.