"Madre de Dios! 'The Baggage Car in Front!' T'adora Mora! God bless 'er!"
During the rendition of this affecting ballad the two cow-men remained draped uncomfortably over the barbed-wire barrier, lost in rapturous enjoyment. When the last note had died away, Stover roused himself reluctantly.
"It's time we was turnin' in." He called softly, "Hey, Mex!"
"Si, Senor!"
"Come on, you and Cloudy. Vamos! It's ten o'clock."
He turned his back on the Centipede Ranch that housed the treasure, and in company with Willie, made his way to the ponies. Two other figures joined them, one humming in a musical baritone the strains of the song just ended.
"Cut that out, Mex! They'll hear us," Stover cautioned.
"Caramba! This t'ing is brek my 'eart," said the Mexican, sadly. "It seem like the Senorita Mora is sing that song to me. Mebbe she knows I'm set out 'ere on cactus an' listen to her. Ah, I love that Senorita ver' much."
The little man with the glasses began to swear in his high falsetto. His ear had caught the phonograph operator in another musical mistake.
"That horn-toad let Mrs. Melby die again to-night," said he. "It's sure comin' to a runnacaboo between him and me. If somebody don't kill him pretty soon, he'll wear out that machine before we git it back."