"No, Señor," he replied, fixing his glittering eyes upon the hateful boss. "_Yo no go! Carramba, que malo hombre!_ You dam' coward, Creet—you scare my wife—you scare—"
"Shut up!" hissed Crit, hastily cuffing him over the head. "Shut your mouth or I'll—"
"_Diablo!_" shrieked the Mexican, striking back blindly. "I keel you! You have to leave _mi niña_ alone!"
"What's that?" yelled Angevine Thorne, leaping with drunken impetuosity into the fray, "hev you been—"
"Leave him to me!" shouted Pecos, wading recklessly into the scrimmage. "I'll fix the blankety-blank, whatever he's gone and done! Throw him loose, boys; I'll take the _one-eyed_—_hump-backed_—_dog-robbin'_—_dastard_"—he accompanied each epithet with a blow—"and tie 'im into a bow knot!" He grabbed Old Crit out of the _mêlée_ and held him against the wall with a hand of iron. "What do you mean by slappin' my friend and cumrad?" he thundered, making as if to annihilate him with a blow. "I want you to understand, Old Cock Eye, that Mr. Garcia is my friend—he comes from a fine old Spanish family, away down in Sonory, and his rights must be respected! Ain't that so, Angy?"
"From the pure, Castilian blood," declaimed Angy, waving his hand largely, "a gentleman to whom I take off my hat—his estimable wife and family—"
"Now here, boys," broke in Crittenden, taking his cue instantly, "this joke has gone far enough. Mr. Garcia's wife asked me to bring him home—you see what his condition is—and I was tryin' to do my best. Now jest take your hand off of me, Mr. Dalhart—yes, thanks—and Angy, you see if you can't git 'im to go home. A man of family, you know," he went on, craftily enlisting their sympathies, "ought to—"
"Sure thing!" responded Angevine Thorne, lovingly twining his arm around his Spanish-American comrade. "Grab a root there, Pecos, and we'll take 'im home in style!"
"Wait till I git my package!" cried Pecos, suddenly breaking his hold, and he turned around just in time to see Crit skipping out the back door.
"Well, run then, you dastard!" he apostrophized, waving one hand as he tenderly gathered up his mail-order dry goods. "I can't stop to take after ye now. This here package is f'r my little Señorita, Marcelina, and I'm goin' to present it like a gentleman and ast her for a kiss. Hey, Angy," he called, as he re-engaged himself with José, "how do you say 'kiss' in Spanish? Aw, shut up, I don't believe ye! Stan' up here, Joe—well, it don't sound good, that's all—I'm goin' to ast her in U. S., and take a chance!"