A vaquero was singing for all he was worth in the guardroom, to the strum of a guitar, while hands clapped out the time—
"I could not be so well content,
So sure of thee,
Señorita,
Lolita;
But well I know thou must relent
And come to me,
Lolita!"
Jim set to work to finish his hole in the wall, prying out the 'dobe bricks with his crowbar, and he sure wrought furious, timing his strokes to the clapping hands, the guitar, and the swinging chorus—
"The caballeros throng to see
Thy laughing face,
Señorita,
Lolita;
But well I know thy heart's for me,
Thy charm, thy grace,
Lolita!
"I ride the range for thy dear sake,
To earn thee gold,
Señorita,
Lolita;
And steal the gringo's cows to make
A ranche to hold
Lolita!"
The cactus liquor was getting in its work, the guardroom crowded up all it would hold of soldiers, vaqueros, customs men, travellers; then there was dancing, singing, gambling, squabbling, all the row which belongs to a general drunk. Curly was fretted up to high fever, riding herd on a bunch of dream cows, and Jim was pouring in his strength on the 'dobe bricks. At two in the morning the Frontier Guards began to make war talk, wanting to turn the prisoners loose, with a prize for the soldier who got first kill with a gun. On that the Holy Cross vaqueros proposed to rescue their young patrone, and wipe out the Frontier Guards. There was considerable rough house with knife and gun, until the guards subdued the vaqueros, jumped on their heads, and herded them into No. 2 cell as prisoners of war. The vaqueros were just moaning for blood, the Guards turned loose to celebrate their victory with more drinks, and while the row was enough to drown artillery, Jim's crowbar drove a brick which fell outside the wall. Now he had only to pry 'dobes loose one by one until the hole was big enough to let out prisoners. Sometimes he had to quit and hold his breath while the sentry came reeling past along his beat. Once he had to play dead, because a drunken sergeant rolled into the cell to give him a drink of meseal. The sergeant called him brother, hugged him, kissed him, cried, and went away. At three o'clock Jim crawled out through the hole with his crowbar, lay for the sentry, jumped up behind, clubbed him, and got the rifle. Then he dragged Mr. Sentry into the cell, wrapped him in Curly's blanket, and made up a dummy to look like himself in case the sergeant of the guard should remember to call again.
"Curly," he shook his partner out of sleep. "Curly, the spring time is coming—it's time for little bears to come out of hole."
"Yo' gawn all foolish," says Curly, "callin' me a bear. I done forget who I am, but I'm too sure sick to be a bear."
"Let's play bear," says Jim, mighty shy; "I'll bet you I'm first through this hole!"
The guardroom had gone quiet, the men there being just sober enough not to fall off the floor, but the sergeant was droning with the guitar, sobbing out the tail end of the old Lolita song—