"So-o-o!"

Say! that hit her right, _I_ tell y'! But I had to go put my foot in it, a-course. "Yas, _you,_" I goes on. "Mebbe you noticed Boston's here pretty frequent?"

"Si! si! si! senor!"

"That's 'cause he's been studyin' you--so's he could use you fer a book char_ac_ter."

"So!" she said. "_That_ is it! _that_ is why!" Mad? Golly! Them black eyes of hern just snapped, and she grabbed a hunk of bread and begun knifin' it.

"Wal," I says, "you don't seem t' ketch on to the fact that you been handed out a blamed big compliment. A person in a _book_ is _some potatoes._"

"No! _no!_ senor!"

Pride hurt, I says to myself. "Now, Carlota," I begun, "don't cut off you' nose t' spite you' face. Pedro Garcia is turrible tickled that we ast _him._"

"Pedro--puf!"

"In the book," I goes on, "he's the bad man that loves you so much he cain't help stealin' you."

"I _hate_ Pedro," she says. "He is like that--bad."

"But we ain't astin' you t' _like_ him, and he don't _git_ you. He drops you off at Johnson's and takes a dummy the rest of the way. We want t' make Boston _think_ they's danger."

"So?" All of a suddent, she didn't seem nigh as mad--and she looked like she'd just thought of somethin'.

I seen my chanst. "That was the way we fixed it up," I goes on.

"A-course, now you don't want t' be the hero_ine,_ I'll ast one of the eatin'-house gals. I reckon _they_ won't turn me down." And I moseyed towards the door.

"Cupid," she calls, "come back. You say, he will think another man loves me so much that he carries me away?"

"You got it," I answers.

She showed them little nippers of hern. "Good!" she says. "I do it!"

"But, Carlota, listen. Boston ain't to be next that this is a put-up job. He's to think it's genuwine. Savvy? And he'll git all the feelin's of a real kidnap. Now, to fool him right, you got to do one thing: Be nice t' Pedro when Boston's 'round."

Little nippers again. "I do it," she says.

I started t' go, but she called me back. "He will think another man loves me so much that he carries me away?" she repeats.

"_Sh.o.r.e,_" I says. And she let me go.

Y' know, _flirtin'_ was Carlota's strong suit. And that very evenin' I seen her talkin' acrosst the counter to Pedro sweeter'n panocha,--with a takin' smile on the south end of that cute little face of hern. But her _eyes_ wasn't smilin'--and a Spanish gal's eyes don't lie.

But supper was late, and Boston and me was at a table clost by,--him lookin' ugly tempered. So ole lady Arnaz tole Carlota t' jar loose. And pretty soon we was wrastlin' our corn-beef, and Pedro was gone.

Rawson sit down nigh us. "Cupid," he says solemn, "reckon we won't git to play that game of draw t'-night." And he give my foot a kick.

"Why?" I ast.

"Account of Pedro bein' in town. I figger t' stay clost to the bunk-house."

"So 'll _I_," I says, and begun examinin' my shootin'-iron mighty anxious.

"Who's this Pedro?" ast Boston.

"Didn't y' see him?" I says. "He's a greaser, and a' awful bad cuss t' monkey with. If you happen t' go past him and so much as wiggle a finger, it's like takin' you' life in you' hands. Look at this."

And I showed him a piece that me and Hairoil 'd fixed up fer the last _EyeOpener_.

"_Pedro Garcia,_" it read, "_was found not guilty by Judge Freeman fer perforatin' Nick Trotmann's sombrero in a street row last Sat.u.r.day night week. Proved that Nick got into Pedro's way and sa.s.sed him. Pedro 'd come to town consider'ble the worse fer booze and, as is allus the case_--" Then they was a inch 'r two without no writin'. Under that was this: "_As a matter of extreme precaution, we have lifted the last half of the above article, havin' got word that Garcia is due in town again. Subscribers will please excuse the gap. I didn't git no time t' fill it in. Editor._"

"And what's he doin' in _here?_" says Boston, "--talkin' to a young gal!"

"Half cracked about her," puts in Bill. "And if she won't have him, 'r her maw interferes, I'm feared they'll be a tragedy."

"Low ruffian!" says Boston.

Later on, about ten o'clock, say, I was pa.s.sin' the rest'rant, and I heerd a man singin'----

"Luz de mi alma!

Luz de mi vida!"

and that somethin' was "despedosin'" his heart. (I savvy the lingo pretty good.)

Wal, it was that dog-goned cholo,--under Carlota's winda, and he had a guitar. Thunderation! that wasn't in our pro_gram!_

"Say, you!" I hollered.

He shut up and come over, lookin' kinda as if he'd been ketched stealin' sheep, but grinnin' so hard his eyes was plumb closed--the mean, little, wall-eyed, bow-laigged swine!

"Pedro," I says, "you' boss likely wants you. Hit the ties."

'Cause, mebbe Carlota 'd git mad at his yelpin,' and knock the hull scheme galley-west.

Talk about you' cheek! Next night, that greaser and his guitar was doin' business at the ole stand. I let him alone. Carlota seemed t'

like it. Anyhow, she didn't hand him out no hot soap suds through the winda, 'r no chairs and tables.

I was glad things was goin' so nice. 'Cause lately I'd had t' worry about Mace a good deal. Her letters had eased up a hull lot. Seems she'd been under the weather fer a few days.

When she writ again though, she said she was O. K., but a-course Noo York _was_ lonesome when a person was sick. Op'ra prospects? Aw, they was _fine!_

Next thing, I was nervouser'n a cow with the heel-fly. _No_ letters come from the little gal!--leastways, none to Rose. And ev'ry day ole man Sewell snooped 'round the post-office, lookin' more and more down in the mouth.

"How's Mace?" Rawson ast him oncet.

"Tol'rable," he answers, glum as all git out.

That kidnappin' was fixed on fer Sat.u.r.day. We didn't tell Carlota that was the day. Her maw might git wind of the job; 'r the gal 'd go dress up, which 'd spoil the real look of the hull thing. Then, on a Sat.u.r.day, after five, Pedro was free to come in town--and most allus showed up with some more of the cholos, pumpin' a hand-car.