"Si!" said the Mexican, grinning as though Pete had made a friendly joke.
"And the other fella there, with ears like the barndoor in a wind, he's jest nacherally a horn-toad that likes whiskey and would jest as soon knife his mother as he would eat a rattlesnake for supper, eh?" And Pete smiled engagingly.
"Si. It is to laugh."
"You sabe whiskey?"
The Mexican shook his head.
"You sabe dam' fool?" Pete's manner was serious as though seeking information.
Again the Mexican shook his head.
"He sure don't," said Pete, turning to Brevoort—"or he'd 'a' jest nacherally plugged me. If a Chola don't know what whiskey or dam' fool means, he don't know American."
Meanwhile the two guards had turned to the natural expedient of gambling for Pete's belt and gun. The elaborately carved holster had taken their fancy. Pete and his companion watched them for a while.
Presently Pete attracted Brevoort's attention by moving a finger. "Hear anything?" he whispered.