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 The stranger gives us a queer look. Then he bows. "Very well," he says. "If you know all about it, there is nothing further to be said. Good-night, gentlemen!"

If we had only listened to that guy!...

Pancho kept out of our sight all the next mornin'—in fact, he didn't even show up for lunch. About the middle of the afternoon me and the Kid is strollin' up and down the patio for exercise, when the Kid lets forth a strangled gasp and buries his finger nails in my shoulder. No wonder. Approachin' us, arm in arm, is Pancho Nogales and Bob Young, the heavyweight champion!

Recoverin' from the first shock of this astonishin' discovery, me and the Kid slipped round a corner and watched 'em. They seemed to be arguin' about somethin'—Young shakin' his head doubtfully and Pancho wavin' his arms with that appealin' look on his face which was there when he talked to us. Knowin' what a high-class pleader Pancho was when he got well under way, I was satisfied that Young would do whatever this egg wanted. I immediately figured there was some kind of a plot in the air to injure Kid Roberts, and the dumfounded Kid did'ntdidn't [sic] know what to figure! We ducked around to the house, found Maida and sent her scurryin' for Pancho. In a few minutes the exdictator strolls up, smilin' pleasantly and rubbin' his hands together like a well-pleased pawnbroker. Kid Roberts went right to the point and demanded a explanation of the heavyweight champion's presence at the hacienda where he was also a guest.