"Yes, next time you're falling around don't use my laigs—they're private. Whar is this place?"
Jim looked up at a window-gap, high in the 'dobe wall, and saw the starlight checkered with iron bars; then listening, he heard a muttering of Spanish talk, and noticed the door of the cell lined out with a glimmer from the guardroom.
"It smells bad, like a trap," said Curly.
"I wonder," says Jim, "what time they feed the animals? I'm starving."
"My two sides," says Curly, "is rubbing together, and I'm sure sorrowful. We done got captured somehow."
"I remember now. They gave us coffee. They must have been Frontier Guards—so this is La Morita."
"Why did they gather us in? We didn't spoil any greasers."
"No, but we fired the grass."
"It was not their grass—we set fire to Arizona."
"I don't think they mind," says Jim, "whose grass we burned. They've got us, and they won't worry about the details. You see, they've got to make a play at being useful, old chap, or else their Government would get tired and forget to send their wages."