They were all fastened to rather small trees back of the tent. The mules stood with heads slightly bent and perfectly still. Jeems went up to old Missouri, pulling his long ears affectionately, and his muleship did not seem to mind it in the least. As Jeems often said, they were kindred souls. The ponies stood with drooping heads. Jo's horse had his head resting over the neck of Tom's, for they were quite chums.

But Jim's Caliente seemed restless and not quiet like the others. He had a good-sized pine for his anchorage, and was in the center of the group, while the others were tied in a circle around him. He was shaking his head and stamping his feet, but Jeems could not find that there was anything especially the matter with him.

Just then the shepherd thought he heard something moving, or creeping through the brush below and he went cautiously down to investigate. He had got below the crest of the hill, about fifty feet, when he was sure that he saw something crouching and moving swiftly off through the darkness. He cried halt and was about to fire his revolver at it when the object disappeared as though the earth had swallowed it up. Then, too, Jeems was not a very ready hand with a pistol; few philosophers are; it requires an impulsive temperament to shoot offhand. Jeems made his way back to the camp debating in his mind whether he should wake up the boys and tell them what he had seen.

This question was settled for him as soon as he arrived in front of the tent. One glance was enough, he saw that the Mexican prisoner had escaped. He was evidently clean gone.

"He's gone, boys," cried Jeems, sticking his head into the tent.

"Who's gone?" they cried, simultaneously sitting up.

"The Mexican," replied Jeems.

"How long?" cried Jim, getting outside of the tent in a jiffy.

"I haven't been gone over five minutes, maybe eight, though," he added reflectively.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," was Jim's verdict.

"I'm glad we do not have to have him around anyway," chimed in Jo.

"But how did the beggar get away?" inquired Juarez. "He was tied tight enough, I reckon."

"Here's the answer," said Jim, stooping over and picking up a piece of rope that lay on the edge of the circle of the firelight.

"Why, it has been burned through!" exclaimed Juarez.

"Exactly," replied Jim.

"How did he get close enough to the fire to do that?" asked Tom.

"I would have thought that he would have burnt himself up," said Jo.

"It was simple enough," explained Jim. "A coal rolled close to him and he was able to get the rope that tied his hands against it and burnt through, and the rest was easy."

"That was a pretty good trick," said Juarez. "We will have to remember that."

"I would be afraid of burning myself," objected Tom.

"That Mexican wouldn't feel it if you did put a live coal on him,"

quoth Juarez. "They don't mind heat."

"I bet he gets his gang on our trail," said Jo. "We will have to look out for trouble from now on."

"We will be ready for them," remarked Jim significantly.

"It looks a little bit like a thunderstorm, boys," said Juarez.

"We had better peg that tent down tighter," said Jo. "It is going to blow, too, in a short while."

The boys did not get things ship-shape any too soon. The black clouds were drifting in a gloomy procession over the great valley, then came a flash that showed the expanse of the level meadow in a green-white color and the somber pine-clad slopes, then the wind and rain together.

CHAPTER XXII

HAIL

The storm drifted steadily northward over the valley with its accompanying flashes of lightning, followed by volleys of rain mingled with the shot of hail. As soon as the boys heard the hail on the canvas roof of their tent they hustled out to put blankets on their horses, so as to protect them from the beating hail. They moved them under the protecting branches as much as possible and made them as snug as they could.

"Remember the time we got into a hail storm in Kansas?" questioned Jo, as they walked back through the beating white pellets, that were getting larger every minute.

"That was fun," laughed Tom. "We pretended that the hail was bullets and the one who was struck on the head was to be dead."

"You were it," declared Jo.

"I was not," said Tom decidedly.

"We will leave it to this storm to decide," said Jo.

"All right," agreed Tom.

"Jeems to be the referee," said Jo.

This was likewise acceptable to Tom. The hail was now coming faster and of good size, about as big as the end of one's thumb, but the boys did not seem to mind as they slouched along with their sombreros pulled down around their ears, thus affording pretty fair protection.

Just then a big bullet of hail struck fairly on top of Tom's skull and bounced, the others saw, about six inches into the air.

"Hurrah!" yelled Jo, "that proves it. You are it again. Isn't he judge?" this to Jeems.

"You mean hit again, not 'it. I fear you are English," replied Jeems.

"Don't insult me," said Jo, "I'm plain U. S. Southwest. But isn't Tom out?"

"Yes," replied Jeems, "he is."

"What!" cried Tom in great surprise, "did something strike me."

"I always thought your head was thick," replied Jo contemptuously, "now I'm sure of it."

By this time they had reached the shelter of the tent and stood looking out at the antics of the hail as it danced upon the hard ground and leaped from the surface of the rocks, and spatted into fire until a steam arose into the air. In a short time the ground was covered with several inches of whiteness.

"Did you boys ever hear that old circus joke?" inquired Jeems, looking musingly out at the jumping hail.

"Not recently," said Jo. "Fire away, Jeems, and relieve your mind."

"Well, in the circus they have a king rigged up on a throne. Him in a red robe and a tinsel crown. All the varlets come in and bow low before his majesty. Then comes the clown and bows lower than the others.