"Well, or what?" demanded Jack, looking the silver-braided bravado straight in the eyes.
"Or you will!"
Question and answer came sharp as pistol shots.
The Mexican raised his pistol menacingly. But at the same instant a foot suddenly projected between the Spanish-American's slender legs and twisted about one limb. The next instant the gaudily garbed bully lay prostrate in the dust, the pungent stuff filling his eyes, mouth and nose.
It was Ralph Stetson's foot which had tripped the man. The boy had acted in a sudden excess of fear that the Mexican was about to shoot his chum. As a matter of fact, the fellow had had no such intention. But now he had shared the fate of many another man who has made a bluff, only to have it promptly taken at its full value.
A sort of murmur of alarm went through the crowd as the Mexican measured his length in the dust.
"Say, pard," said a short, chunky little cowboy behind Ralph, "you've done it now; that's Black Ramon De Barrios."
"Well, he's white now!" laughed the boy, as the Mexican rose to his feet with his features smothered with white dust.
"Looks as if he'd been taking a dive in the flour barrel!" laughed Jack. He turned to Ralph with a quick, "Thanks, old fellow. I see that you're as much on the job here as on the football field. But I don't think he meant to shoot——"
"No, he did not, but he does now!"