"Let 'em alone till next time they git into a muss, an' then clean 'em all out of camp," said Chagres Charley. "Let's hev it onderstood that while this camp cheerfully recognizes the right of a gentleman to shoot at sight an' lay out his man, that it considers stabbin' in the dark's the same thing as murder. Them's our principles, and folks might's well know 'em fust as last. Good Lord! what's that?"
All the men started to their feet at the sound of a long, loud yell.
"That's one of 'em now!" ejaculated Mississip, with a huge oath. "Nobody but a Greaser ken holler that way—sounds like the last despairin' cry of a dyin' mule. There's only eight or nine of 'em, an' each of us is good fur two Greasers apiece—let's make 'em git this minnit."
And Mississip dashed out of the door, followed by the other five, revolvers in hand.
The Mexicans lived together, in a hut made of raw hides, one of which constituted the door.
The devoted six reached the hut, Texas snatched aside the hide, and each man presented his pistol at full cock.
But no one fired; on the contrary, each man slowly dropped his pistol, and opened his eyes.
There was no newly made corpse visible, nor did any Greasers savagely wave a bloody stiletto.
But on the ground, insensible, lay a Mexican woman, and about her stood seven or eight Greasers, each looking even more dumb, incapable, and solemn than usual.
The city fathers felt themselves in an awkward position, and Mississip finally asked, in the meekest of tones: