there, old mate!  I'm with you, blow high, blow low."

For a few minutes they planned.  Then Barlow hurried off to make what
few arrangements were necessary before they could be in the saddle and
riding toward a railroad.  Kendric meant to get two or three hours'
sleep since he realized that even his hard body could not continue
indefinitely as he had been driving it here of late.  There was nothing
to be done just now that Barlow could not do; before the saddled horses
could be brought for him he could have time for what rest he needed.

The thought of bed was pleasant as he walked on for he realized that he
was tired in every muscle of his body.  The street was deserted saving
the figure of a boy he saw coming toward him.  As he was turning a
corner the boy's voice accosted him.

"Señor Kendric," came the call.  "_Un momenta_."

Kendric waited.  The boy, a half-breed in ragged clothes, came close
and peered into his face.  Then, having made sure, he whipped out a
small parcel from under his torn coat.

"_Para usted_," he announced.

Kendric took it, wondering.

"What is it?" he asked.  "Who sent it?"

But the boy was slouching on down the street.  Kendric called sharply;
the boy hastened his pace.  And when Kendric started after him the
ragamuffin broke into a run and disappeared down an alleyway.  Kendric
gave him up and came back to the street, tearing off the outer wrap of
the package under a street lamp.  In his hand was a sheaf of bank notes
which he readily recognized as the very ones he had just now lost at
dice, together with a slip of note paper on which were a few finely
penned lines.  He held them up to the light in an amazement which
sought an explanation.  The words were in Spanish and said briefly:

"To Señor Jim Kendric because under his laugh he looked sad when he
lost.  From one who does not play at any game with faint hearts."

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