"Would your English ladies at home consent to dance with armed men?" asked Beth.
"They're quite right, boys," said Stubby, nodding his bullethead. "Let's agree to deposit all the shooting irons 'til the dance is over."
"I won't!" cried Knuckles, his scowl deepening.
"By Jove, you will!" shouted Tobey, with unexpected vehemence. "You're delaying the programme, old man, and it's a nuisance to dance in this armor, anyway. Here—pile all your guns in this corner; every one of you, mind. Then we shall all stand on an equal footing."
"Put them on the table there, by the old fiddler," said Patsy; "then we will know we are perfectly safe."
Rather unwillingly they complied, each man walking up to the table and placing his revolver at Dan'l's feet. The girls watched them intently.
"That man over there is still armed," called Beth, pointing to a swarthy Mexican who squatted near the door.
"That's all right," said Tobey, easily. "He's our guard, Pedro. I've stationed him there so you won't attempt to escape till we get ready to let you go."
Patsy laughed.
"There's little danger of that," she said.