"All right. I'll ride out. I reckon their chief'll come to meet me."
The meaning of the Lipans had been plain enough. The sudden firing of the miners upon their superior force had had all the effect of a surprise.
They were furiously angry over their losses, but their wise leader saw that he must give them a breathing spell. No troops in the world could stand a fire so withering as that which came from the repeating rifles of the desperadoes. Quite as many ponies as men had gone down, and their morning's plunder had already cost them more than it was worth. Therefore it must not be permitted to cost them any more, if they could help it by threats and talking.
[to be continued.]
[A COMPLICATED PREDICAMENT.]
BY F. B. STANFORD.
Josephus Jones was his name in full, but he was called Seph by familiar acquaintances, and usually designated as "Potter's colored boy." In his stockings he stood about four feet five, was black as ebony, and had an inclination to grin more or less. When in full costume he wore his employer's discarded cowhide boots, a blue flannel shirt, a frock-coat ornamented with brass buttons, and a faded felt hat that had a ragged vent-hole in the crown. Trouble usually slipped from his mind and memory like water from a duck's back; but at the time about to be mentioned he was considerably disturbed because he was not white "like other folks."
The white boys and girls in the Potter neighborhood had been planning several weeks to have a masquerade party in the old red school-house, and Seph desired above all things to have a share in the fun and eatables of the occasion. His color and scanty wardrobe, however, were likely to debar him the privilege.
"It do'n' make no dif'rence nohow," he said to himself, after mature deliberation. "I's gwine to hab a show in dat party one way or nudder."