TIBERIUS SMITH
"‘Poor devil!' I sighed; for I knew my irrelevant remark would make him mad.
"‘Certainly it's poor devil when a white man fresh from that blessed State is in this plight,' he snapped, his brown eyes becoming two points. 'Here, read.'
"It seems there were four 'poor devils,' all Americans. They were in Quelta, the letter said, waiting to be sent to the salt-mines for life. Now a man who knows Mexico would rent the salt-mines out to his dearest enemy and live in Hades—if he owned both. The letter was a brief one, the writer merely stating his prospects, and saying he had heard from his guards of Smith's presence in Chihuahua. He begged Tiberius to rescue him if he had any love for the children of the Star-Spangled Banner.
"Tib knew Spanish more or less, chiefly less, but he carried a gilt-headed cane that would make up the difference in effect on the average alcalde, and a quick trot to the halls of justice gave him an insight to the situation. It seems Murphy, the writer, and his friends had been foolish enough to hire out as a train-crew on the Central, and that their train, near Quelta, had run over a big-bug's hired man. Now the average peon, after absorbing all the visible supply of aguardiente, will hunt all over the map for the most outre place in which to sleep off his Alice-blue rabbits, and nothing appeals to his sordid imagina-
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