“Careful, señor!” The muzzle of a pistol touched him. “Turn and walk to the horses.”
“Five hundred dollars and a get-away, Ximines,” he said softly, “if you turn me free.”
The other growled. “Bah! If you have that much money, I shall take it anyway, and take the pretty señorita too! When we get to that cañon ofpinecateseh? Then this Sidewinder will go away, and maybe Manuel will come back, eh? And you will not be able to object, my little señor.Vamanos!To the horses!”
Sidewinder called. Ramsay, hopeless, turned and went to the horses, saddled by the other men. He was put into a saddle, his feet roped to the stirrups, and his arms bound. Then Ximines, without orders but for reasons of his own, improvised a dirty bandana into a gag, which he lashed about the jaw of Ramsay.
“Bring him along,” said Sidewinder impatiently, and mounted, leading the way. The others trailed out after him. After Cholo Bill rode Ramsay, the reins of his horse held by Ximines at his stirrup. As they rode out across the grassy cañon, the Mexican laughed and spoke softly to the captive.
“Ho, little señor! What is it I read in the newspaper, that the wise men say in your town of New York, eh? They say that theAmericano, he is not civilized—that theAmericanoof the West, he is an animal. Ho! Well, when I come back to that cañon of the little tumbling bugs, señor, you shall see how we treat gringos, dogs ofAmericanos, in my country! And you will not be able to walk, for I shall cut your legs behind—que lástima. What a pity, little señor! And when I kiss the señorita, eh? It will be amusing to hear you curse, uncivilizedAmericano!”
Ramsay now perceived why he had been gagged by the Mexican. And beneath the raging fury that the taunts and threats roused in him, beneath wonder that on the lips of such a man he should find the smart sayings of the radicals of New York’s East Side, slowly mounted a growing horror at the prospect. For he comprehended that this swarthy Mexican, whose cigarettes had such a queer and unholy odor, was a smoker of the marihuana weed—a monster beside whom the cocaine fiend was as a pale angel, a creature debased and degenerate whose one craving was for blood, for cruelty, for torture.
So the five riders passed through the hole in the wall, and came out upon the lonely starlit desert, and headed for the Pinecate mesa. And upon the hills the coyotes howled dismal orisons to the stars.
Another dawn was breaking when the five riders approached Pinecate Cañon, and the sun-spears were thrusting across the eastern sky. The lower reaches of the rocky cañon were desolate and empty, save for the figure of a saddled and bridled horse moving about. Sidewinder, with a grunt of recognition, broke the silence.
“There’s that cayuse of Mesquite’s now—started for town and stopped on the way. Prob’ly smelled water here.”
“And yonder’s the auto,” said Tom Emery with a jerk of his head. “Two of ’em!”
There was no need to question Ramsay about his car, for that of Ethel Gilman had been thrust beside it into the cover of the trees and mesquite clump, so that both cars stood protected from sun and dew, but plain to be seen. Sidewinder flung them a glance, then turned his horse into the cañon.
“Come along—ride as far as we can, anyhow. Her place is quite a ways up.”
The five rode slowly up the cañon, until they came to the spot where Ramsay had found that cigarette case. Here Sidewinder drew rein, since it was becoming increasingly harder for the horses to climb. Ahead was the bend in the cañon.
“Manuel, you stay here with Ramsay. You’d better stick here too, Tom. Come ahead when I call. You come with me, Bill.”
Sidewinder dismounted, and with the dapper Cholo Bill swinging along beside him, ascended the rocky floor of the cañon on foot. A faint thread of smoke began climbing into the sky from somewhere around the bend; sunrise in all its glory was spreading a riot of color across the heavens.
Some distance above them was a great boulder, huge as a house, in the center of the rapidly narrowing cañon. It was a rich and ruddy rose-pink in the first sunlight, and was split squarely in two, with a number of small piñon trees growing from the split. Water came from it, came from the cañon above it also, and ran down into several pools and short falls; it was the evanescent water of the desert springtime, giving a short-lived existence to lilies and masses of flowers on either hand. Above this boulder, and to its left, could be seen the brown outline of a small tent, with the figure of Ethel Gilman tending a fire close by. Sidewinder raised his voice in a hail, and waved his hand.
“Leave the talk to me, now,” he growled. “It’s all right—she’s alone here. Don’t want to frighten her. Scare a fool woman, and she’s like a locoed horse.”
“Seguro, señor,” assented the halfbreed with a flash of his white teeth. Sidewinder, now that the girl had seen them, turned and sent a stentorian hail down the cañon, bidding Emery come along up. Then he started climbing again to where the girl stood beside her little fire, staring at the arrivals in alarm and fear that could not be wholly veiled.
“Morning, miss,” called Sidewinder as they approached her camp. “How’s everything?”
“All right, thanks,” she returned, low-voiced, obviously startled.
“I was goin’ by with some friends o’ mine,” said Sidewinder, puffing with the climb, “and thought we’d stop in and see if you were all right. —Bill, rustle up some firewood for the lady!”
Cholo Bill smiled and went about his task. Sidewinder approached the girl.
“We’re going to leave Ramsay with you a spell,” he said. “He’s a mite scratched up, but aint hurt to speak of. Fell off a hoss, I reckon. Miss, where’s that pistol of yours? Let’s have a look at it.”
He did not miss her start at Ramsay’s name. His gray eyes glittered on her, bored into her, and as she met that deadly gaze, there was a struggle in her face.
“You want—my pistol?” she faltered.
“If you please, ma’am.”
Her hand went to her bosom and produced a small, flat automatic. Still she hesitated, a surge of anger coming into her eyes—then as she looked past Sidewinder, she saw the other three figures turning the bend. At once she held out the weapon.
“There. Now what? You need not pretend that you want to help me.”
Sidewinder took the weapon and thrust it out of sight.
“We aint goin’ to hurt ye, not a mite,” he said harshly. “We got Ramsay where we want him, and neither one of ye is going to do any talkin’; that’s all. We’re goin’ to leave him and you here, and fix it so’s ye’ll stay here a spell. Nothin’ to be scared of, miss. If you’ve got any grub, let’s have some. I’ll send ye out plenty from town, as soon as we get back. The water’ll last ye long enough, so there’s nothin’ to be scared of.”
“I’ll get what I have,” she said quietly, then turned and went into the tent—whence she presently reappeared, with coffee and bacon, coffee-pot and skillet. Cholo Bill came in with an armload of brush, which he heaped over the fire, arranging several stones to hold the coffee-pot. A moment later Tom Emery strode up, followed by Ximines and Ramsay, who was still gagged and his arms bound. Miss Gilman stood staring at him, wide-eyed—this scratched and bruised and helpless man, with the garments hanging in shreds about him, was somewhat different from the Pat Ramsay she had known previously.
“I reckon he needs a shave, ma’am.” Sidewinder chuckled. “But that’ll keep. Set him against that rock, Manuel. The lady can let him loose after we’re gone. Get some water, Tom—the quicker we get a bite to eat and get off, the better.”
Disregarding their curious glances, Miss Gilman, looking only at the figure of Ramsay, returned to her tent and sat down before it. Sidewinder and his companions managed a makeshift bite to eat and a swallow of warm coffee apiece; then Sidewinder rose.
“We’ll leave the hosses here. Which of you boys can drive a car? Got to take ’em both to town with us.”
“I can,” said Tom Emery.
“All right—”
“Somebody better stay and watch things, and attend to the horses,” spoke up Manuel Ximines, who was rolling one of his evil-smelling cigarettes. “It would be foolish to leave horses here. Why not let me stay? I have nothing to do in town.”
Sidewinder nodded, with a slight look of chagrin at the slip he had so nearly made. To have left the horses here unwatched would indeed have been fatal.
“All right,” he said curtly. “You stay. Don’t bother the lady none. Better go on down to the lower cañon. I’ll send a driver back with the other boys and a load of grub in one o’ the cars. Then you boys get back to Hourglass in a hurry, and get started. I’ll have José Garcia out here by morning to ride herd on things.”
“And shall I hamstring thishombrenow?” asked Ximines, gesturing with his cigarette toward Ramsay, who was glad that Miss Gilman could not understand the Mexican tongue.
“Let him wait till tonight. You’ll likely need help to hold him down, and we aint got any time to waste now. Come on, boys.”
With this, Sidewinder started down the cañon, Tom Emery and Cholo Bill at his heels. Manuel Ximines, however, remained sitting where he was, a thin smile on his black-avised features, in his glittering dark eyes the wild cruelty and the cunning that mark themarihuana-smoker.
Not until the three departing figures were out of sight around the bend did the girl move. Then, as Ximines showed no intention of leaving, she rose to her feet.
“Well?” she demanded sharply. “I suppose I may release Mr. Ramsay?”
Ximines turned his head and surveyed her. Under that gaze she shrank, and the color ebbed from her cheeks.
“You stay quiet or I shoot heem.” With this, the Mexican resumed his cigarette and stared again down the cañon.
The girl flashed a terrified, wondering look at Ramsay, who had drawn closer a step or two. His eyes, vainly trying to give her a message of warning, terrified her the more, and she stood motionless before the tent. Ximines, who perhaps wanted to let Sidewinder and the other two men get well away, paid her no attention but smoked on reflectively and stared down the cañon. He had drawn his pistol, however, and now held it idly in his lap.
Ramsay, arms bound and gagged as he was, was more terrified than the girl. He knew that Ximines might at any instant leap into stark blood-madness or wild passion. Alienists declare that the man who thinks himself about to explode is the most dangerous of all maniacs; but men on the border know that more dangerous than any maniac is the smoker ofmarihuana. So, with the intention of quietly working his way toward the girl, in a desperate hope that she might be able to release his bound arms, Ramsay continued his slow forward advance.
Then, sudden as the flashing stroke of a snake, Ximines was on his feet, pistol out.
“One more step, little señor, and I cut your throat and drink your blood!” he exclaimed, a wild and lurid glare in his eyes. A cry broke from the girl.
“Stop! Leave us alone—go on down and look after those horses!” She faced him as he turned to her, grinning. Despite the terror that was upon her, she met his grin defiantly, bravely. “Go on down the cañon as you were told to do!”
Ximines thrust away his pistol and took a step toward her, glaring eyes gripped upon her.
“Manuel has come to take you, little señorita of the white throat,” he declared in soft Spanish, and if the girl could not understand his words, his manner was beyond all mistake. “Come to me, little cooing dove! I shall show you how we treat the gringo señoritas in my country.”
Ramsay hurled himself forward, frantic with horror, flung himself at the Mexican. Ximines grinned, avoided the rush, deftly tripped the bound man and then struck him with an open-handed blow that sent him headlong among the rocks. Next instant, with a sudden and unexpected lurch forward, he was upon Ethel Gilman and had caught her in both arms.
“Come, señorita—”
She struck him across the face, staggering him, and struck him again so that he loosed her and fell back, hand to eyes. A wild scream burst from him, and he whipped out a knife, swaying as he stood.
“Ha! I shall drink your blood for that blow, white-throat!” he yelled.
Ramsay, pulling himself up, saw the Mexican start forward, knew himself helpless to intervene; then he saw something else.
The flap of the brown tent was shoved aside, and in the opening protruded the red nose, the tangled whiskers, the sharp little eyes of Sagebrush Beam. The Mexican saw that movement also, and furious as he was, halted and shifted hand to pistol. But he was too late.
“I reckon ye’ve crowded us far enough,” growled Sagebrush. The roar of a forty-five barked out, and lifted thunderously along the cañon walls.
Sagebrush, dragging himself from the tent but not rising, called to Ramsay.
“Kick that skunk’s knife over yere, and I’ll cut ye free.”
Ramsay, who had been stupefied by the appearance of the desert rat, obeyed the order, and in another moment was rubbing his arms to get rid of the numbness. Ethel Gilman had dropped in a heap, mercifully unconscious; and almost at her side lay Manuel Ximines, his contorted features staring at the sky.
“Where on earth did you come from?” demanded Ramsay. “Man, I thought you were dead!”
“So I was,” and Sagebrush chuckled, “but I come to life again, found a hoss and got over yere. The lady give me a lift up the cañon and took care on me. I got a busted head and a bullet in the gizzard, but I’m gettin’ all right. Yessir! Like Yavapai Ferris, down Phœnix way. Time o’ the border raids, some greasers drapped him into a dry wash with two-three bullets; then some sojers come along, and the greasers crawled into the wash for shelter, and Yavapai set up with a gun in each hand and plugged ten of ’em. The ’leventh got away, and Yavapai said he’d ha’ been cured pronto if he’d got the ’leventh. Yes-sir, same here. Pluggin’ that there p’izen skunk sure done me good. I’d have done it earlier, only I didn’t figger on drawin’ Sidewinder back yere. S’pose you drap him into the cañon ’fore the lady wakes up. Git his gun, too.”
Ramsay stooped above the dead Mexican and found that the latter’s automatic was his own pistol, which had been taken from him when captured. At one side of the upper flat was a great bunch of yucca, its spiny perpendicular leaves topped by the remains of a glorious cluster of creamy, bell-like blooms. Carrying the body to this, Ramsay dropped it out of sight.
“Don’t forget the spot,” said Sagebrush anxiously. “I reckon there’s a reward for that gent down south.”
“Never mind talking now,” said Ramsay, with a glance at the unconscious girl. “Got any more grub in there? Then lay it out—get breakfast started, anyhow.”
He went to the pool below, sluiced head and neck and arms with the cold water. Then he turned to the girl and lifted her head in his arms. He was about to bathe her face, when her eyes opened and looked up into his, startled and wide in recognition.
“You’re all right,” he said quietly, and smiled. “Sit still a minute, young lady, and take it easy.”
Color rising in her cheeks, the girl sat up, then sprang to her feet, staring around. “Where is he?”
“He done went away, ma’am,” said Sagebrush solemnly. “Yessir. That Mex done seen the error of his ways and got converted. I never seen a Mex get converted so sudden before, neither, nor with such good results.”
“And we owe Sagebrush a vote of thanks for converting him,” added Ramsay, turning to the fire. “Breakfast ready in a minute, Miss Gilman. Have you any biscuits cooked up?”
“Yere’s some store biscuits.” Sagebrush tossed out a package. “Say, Perfesser! I’m right worried about somethin’.”
“About what?” asked Ramsay.
“Why, d’you s’pose that cuss Sidewinder will steal them magazines o’ mine? I left ’em to the hotel in my pack. I got six months’ store o’ magazines there, and I’m readin’ a long story in one of ’em. I been thinking a lot about that there story in the last six months, and I’m gettin’ real anxious to finish it. If Sidewinder steals ’em—”
“He wont,” said Ramsay, laughing to himself. “He wont. I’ll nab those two friends of his when they come back with the car this afternoon, and we’ll all drop in on Sidewinder tonight and surprise him.” Sagebrush was sitting up, and they joined him, all three feeling considerably benefited by the coffee and a bite of food. Miss Gilman asked no more questions about Ximines, and Ramsay outlined what had taken place in Hourglass Cañon.
“How badly is our friend here hurt?” Ramsay asked of Miss Gilman after he had ended his story.
“He’ll be on his feet in a few days. I took out the bullet—I’ve had a little experience nursing—and there’s nothing very much the matter with him. He lost a good deal of blood.”
“Blood’s cheap.” Sagebrush grinned, as he leaned back comfortably. He seemed to have quite gotten over all his aversion to this particular woman. “Best thing for blood is good fat lizard-meat. I’ll get me a likely chuckwalla and lay him in the ashes, and feed up. Some says pack-rats make good meat, but I dunno. I’ve et rattlesnake, but my gosh! A feller has to draw the line somewhere, and I draws it at pack-rats. So you’re figgering on roundin’ up Sidewinder tonight, Perfesser?”
“Yes,” responded Ramsay. “If I can get Tom Emery and Cholo Bill—”
“Ye can’t do it noways,” said Sagebrush with savage emphasis. “Don’t be a durned fool and try it, Perfesser. Even if ye got them two fellers covered, would they give in again? Not much. They’d figger that one of ’em would go down, the other might plug ye—and they’d take the chance. Yessir. After all that’s happened, they’d go for ye, gun or no gun. Ye took ’em by s’prise the first time, but there wont be no second time. The only way to get ’em is to drop ’em cold and get ’em dead.”
“I’m no murderer,” said Ramsay quietly. “And I’m going to get ’em, one way or the other; so stop your argument. Miss Gilman, why didn’t you put Sagebrush into your car and take him to town when he showed up here?”
“He wasn’t in shape to stand it,” said the girl. “He got here only last night, half dead and very weak from loss of blood. I had to give him instant attention, get out the bullet, and bandage him up. I should think you’d compliment me on the recovery of my patient, instead of finding fault!”
Ramsay smiled. “I’m not finding fault, except that I wish you were out of here. Well, shall we go down and attend to those horses? We’d better rid them of saddles and bridles and herd them as far up the cañon as possible. We have until tonight to lay our plans, and we must get the flivver that brings those rascals back here, as well as the two men themselves.”
“Then ye’d better figger on shootin’ first and fastest,” snapped out Sagebrush.
Ramsay laughed and made no response, as he started down the cañon with Miss Gilman at his side. When they stood beside the great boulder of pink granite, with the piñon trees growing out of the cleft above, he paused.
“This is where my brother came,” he said, looking around. “I suppose he’s buried somewhere near here—if he’s buried at all. And there’s gold in these rocks.”
“It’s a beautiful place,” said the girl softly, staring at the pool with its great clusters of yucca flowers and lilies. “I suppose these flowers will all be gone in a few weeks, Mr. Ramsay?”
He gave her a whimsical look. “Can’t you make it Pat, yet?”
She shook her head, gayly enough. “Not yet. Look up there above the boulder—what a site that would be for a house!”
“You can have it,” he said, starting on again. “I want none of this place—I’d never get away from the thought of poor Alec. No, the place you should see is Hourglass Cañon. There’s a real beauty-spot, with water the year around. If I were you, I’d grubstake old Sagebrush, and set him to work looking for gold in this cañon. My brother Alec was no fool, and if he thought there was gold here in paying quantities, it is probably here. Then you come over to Hourglass Cañon with me and start your chicken-ranch.”
She gave him a laughing look. “You own that other place, then?”
“No, but I will own it as soon as the papers can be put through. Do you want half?”
“Tell you later,” she returned, and pointed. “There are the horses.”
During the next half-hour Ramsay and Miss Gilman were busy in the extreme. They unsaddled the five horses, got the poor beasts free of bridles, and then started to drive them up the cañon as far as the bend. Having found some of his own supplies lying cached among the trees, Ramsay left the girl to handle the horses and himself turned back down to the mouth of the cañon.
There, where the cañon gave on to the open desert, he approached the clump of piñon and mesquite, and dragged forth the pack of supplies which he had seen. It had evidently been flung out of his car by Sidewinder. He stooped to open the pack and examine its contents—then he suddenly stood up. A queer noise had startled him, a noise which made him glance incredulously at the sky. An airplane?
No. He turned and stood transfixed. There, approaching at full speed, leaping and bounding on the rough desert floor, was one of the two vanished flivvers, and all three men were in it.
He stood staring, helpless, not daring to produce the pistol from his pocket and open fire. That might have been his best chance; yet he neglected it. With a grinding squeal of brakes, the car rushed down to a halt ten feet away. Sidewinder leaped out in the cloud of dust, followed by Tom Emery and Cholo Bill.
“Manuel! Where’s Ximines?” demanded Sidewinder hastily.
“Up the cañon.” Ramsay waved his hand. “What’s the matter?”
Sidewinder turned to the two men, who had rifles in their hands. Obviously, something very much was the matter, for they were pouring out oaths at sight of the horses, and were in frantic haste.
“Go get Manuel and the hosses—quick!” snapped Sidewinder. “This is as far as they can get in their car—we got the hosses, and they aint got any. Move, durn ye!”
The two men stood their rifles against the car and started away, toward the staring figure of Miss Gilman and the slowly moving horses.
Sidewinder stood snarling malevolently at Ramsay, his glittering gray eyes filled with a greenish light, his gray mask of a face bitter to see.
“What’s happened?” demanded Ramsay.
“Hell’s to pay, that’s what! If I thought you were behind it, I’d leave you here to the buzzards. Dunno but what I will anyhow.”
Ramsay, frowning in perplexity, came closer to him.
“What do you mean?” he inquired. Sidewinder flung out a hand toward the desert behind him.
“I mean that the sheriff’s got on our trail; that’s what! Prob’ly trailed that last bunch of hosses. Now we got to get along to Hourglass Cañon, and we’ll take you and the girl so’s ye wont do no talkin’.”
“Oh!” said Ramsay, and then lifted his eyes to the desert. “Is that dust caused by their car?”
An oath on his lips, Sidewinder whirled—and Ramsay struck.
He struck straight and hard, mercilessly so, and his fist caught Sidewinder just behind the ear. The little man was knocked off his feet, knocked headlong into the radiator of the car, and fell in a limp and senseless heap, stunned.
Ramsay, carried off his balance by the furious energy of his own blow, staggered. As he did so, a pistol barked and a bullet scraped his very hair. He came around, to see Tom Emery and Cholo Bill, who were not yet fifty feet away, in the act of firing on him.
A leap, and he was behind the car. No protection here from heavy bullets—but he had his own pistol out now, and was taking his chances. A bullet crashed into the frame of the car. Another smashed the windshield. Ramsay was firing, rapidly but coolly. Now he ducked swiftly to the other end of the car, darted out into full sight, took two quick, sure shots. He saw Cholo Bill go down and lie quiet; then Emery came for him on the run, red whiskers flaming in the sunlight, pistol spitting.
Ramsay stepped out, deliberately, and took aim.
A bullet streaked fire between arm and side, searing his ribs—but to his shot Tom Emery’s giant figure came crashing forward, rolled over once and then lay sprawled out. For a moment Ramsay stood quiet, scarcely daring to realize that he was unhurt save for scratches, until he saw Ethel Gilman running down the cañon toward him.
Then he sprang forward and leaned over Emery, only to rise at once and hurry to the side of Cholo Bill. Just in time, too, for the halfbreed, leg broken by a bullet, was trying to reach his fallen pistol. Ramsay kicked the weapon away, and Cholo Bull, with a low groan, relaxed into unconsciousness. As Ramsay obtained the outlaw’s knife, the girl arrived on the scene.
He looked up at her with a slow laugh.
“Sagebrush said it couldn’t be done, but he was only partly right. Emery’s gone. Can you fix up some sort of bandage for this chap, after I get his arms lashed behind him? His leg’s broken, I think. The sheriff is on his way here, according to Sidewinder—and I’ll have to attend to that gentleman before he wakes up. We’ve got him, and we’ve got Cholo Bill, and it’s a good haul.”
As the white-faced girl nodded and knelt, Ramsay lashed the arms of the wounded man firmly behind him with the gay silk kerchief that had been at Cholo Bill’s neck, then rose and ran back to the car. Here again he had not an instant to lose, for Sidewinder Crowfoot was stirring, was clinging to the car and trying to haul himself up. Knowing with what incredible swiftness the man could strike, Ramsay did not hesitate, but stooped with a blow that drove Sidewinder prostrate again, then flung himself upon the fallen man and in five minutes had him disarmed and firmly bound hand and foot.
He rejoined the girl, to find her finishing her task as well as circumstances would permit, and as she took his hand to rise, he saw a change come into her face.
“Another car—there!”
Ramsay swung around, and a laugh broke from him at sight of another flivver bearing down for the cañon, crowded with men.
“Good! It looks as though the law had come to Pinecate Cañon at last, young lady!”
Fifteen minutes afterward Ramsay and the grizzled sheriff from Chuckwalla City were accompanying Miss Gilman up the cañon toward the girl’s camp, while below them the deputies were getting the prisoners loaded up and were bringing the five horses to the cars. All five of those horses had been among the bunch recently stolen from the other side of the range, and two of the deputies were preparing to ride on to Hourglass Cañon and take possession of the herd there.
As the three came to the bend in the cañon, Ramsay halted and drew from his pocket his brother’s deed, still in its torn envelope.
“Sheriff, here’s evidence of a Federal charge to lay against Sidewinder Crowfoot—mail-robbery. I think it will serve to give him a long time in the penitentiary to think upon his sins. Suppose you look it over, while I say a word to Miss Gilman, will you?”
The sheriff met his whimsical gaze, grinned, and then strode on around the bend with the evidence in his hand. Ramsay turned to the girl.
“What do you say about Hourglass Cañon, young lady? Do you want to share it with me?”
“Well, I’ll go and look at it, but I wont promise anything.”
“All right. That’s fair enough. And you’ll call me Pat?”
Her eyes surveyed him merrily.
“Not until—you get a shave!” she said, and then was gone, running after the tall figure of the sheriff, a laugh floating back to Ramsay.
He followed, smiling.
Transcriber’s NotesThis story is from the January 1924 issue of The Blue Book Magazine.Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
Transcriber’s Notes