'
"We never gets anythin' but Mace's story for it. He tells later how
he sa'nters into Santa Anna's an' finds his three Anton Chico felons
all settin' alone at a table. They knows him, he says, an' he camps
down over opp'site an' calls for a drink. They's watchin' Mace, an'
him doin' sim'lar by them. Final, he says, one of 'em makes a play
for his gun, an', seein' thar's nothin' to be made waitin', Mace
jumps up with a six-shooter in each hand, an' thar's some noise an'
a heap of smoke, an' them three Mexicans is eliminated in a bunch.
"When he plays his hand out Mace comes back over to us--no other
Mexicans allowin' for to call him--an' relates how it is, an'
nacheral we says it's all right, which it shorely is. I asks old
Santa Anna for the details of the shake-up later, but he spreads his
hands, an' shrugs his shoulders, an' whines
"'No quien sabe.'
"An', of course, as I can't tell, an' as Santa Anna don't, I gives'
up askin'."
CHAPTER XX.
A WOLFVILLE THANKSGIVING.
It was in the earlier days of autumn. Summer had gone, and there was
already a crisp sentiment of coming cold in the air. The Old
Cattleman and I had given way to a taste for pedestrianism that had
lain dormant through the hot months.
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