"Mr. De Peyster," rejoined the prospector, "your organ of smelling is kerrict, sir. There is four of the finest Bermudas obtainable in that rabbit stew."
"Hold me," murmured Pete to Jack, a sudden look of lassitude coming over his weather-beaten face.
"Why, why, what's the matter?" exclaimed Jack in some real alarm.
"I—I think I'm going to faint, and I forgot to bring my smellin' salts," grinned Pete, favoring the boy with a portentous wink.
The formality of the West did not permit Jim Hicks to ask any questions of his guests. In fact, in that section of the country such a procedure would have been adjudged a terrible breach of good manners. On the border every man's business is his own, and no questions asked.
When, however, three or more helpings of rabbit stew had become a part of Coyote Pete, and an equal number was being assimilated into the person of Jack Merrill, the cow-puncher took advantage of the temporary absence of Jim Hicks—who had gone to see after his ponies—to ask Jack if he thought it wise to tell the prospector some of their story.
"I certainly do," replied Jack. "He is a queer character, certainly, but under all his peculiarities he seems to be shrewd and kindly."
"That's what I think, too," agreed Pete. "He may be able to help us."
After Coyote Pete and Jim Hicks had their pipes lighted, therefore, for the prospector carried a good supply of "Lone Jack," Coyote Pete began. The prospector listened with many exclamations of surprise to their story, till they reached the part concerning the old Mission of San Gabriel. Then he jumped to his feet, and, dashing his pipe to the ground, applied a few vigorous epithets to Black Ramon and his gang.
"That's the bunch of coyotes that drove me out of there just as I was about to make my fortune," he cried.