But Bud looked only at the girl. He was on foot now but over his shoulders hung his saddle-bags. He halted and threw them at Alexander's feet. "My mule got shot out from under me," he informed her quite simply, "an' I busted an arm--hit war a right slavish trip. Open them bags." Alexander obeyed--and drew out a parcel bound in brown paper, bearing the bright red spots of the bank's sealing wax. "I reckon, men," she said quietly, "we won't hev ter sot out afresh." Brent, Halloway and O'Keefe gazed stupidly each on each. Incredulous amazement and perplexity tied their tongues. Finally Halloway found his voice to stammer, "What's done happened? How did Sellers git hit." Then only Alexander threw back her head and let her laughter peal out. "He's done hed hit all ther time," she announced. "You fellers hes done been staunch friends ter me--and I've got ter crave yore forgiveness ef I hain't trusted ye full free from then start." She paused and added solicitously, "But ye sees, ye forewarned me erginst them real robbers--an' Jase Mallows forewarned me erginst _you_. I 'lowed he war lyin'--but I couldn't take no chances. Thar war jest one feller I knowed I could trust without question, an' thet feller was Bud. So he tuck ther money an' thet bundle I rid away from bank with was jest make believe. I aimed ter lead 'em over a false trail." "Outwitted ther pack of us," bellowed Halloway gleefully. "Afore God, I takes my hat off ter ye--but why didn't ye suffer some man ter tote ther dummy bundle?" "Ef airy man had undertook hit," she responded gravely, "they'd most likely hev kilt him first--an' s'arched him 'atterwards." Bud had dropped down on a step of the stile that led from the road to the yard. His heavy lidded eyes were full of weariness and pain. His limp arm sagged but he said slowly: "Thet's why I run away, Mr. Brent. I had to. Two of us couldn't cross thar without goin' slow--and I couldn't let them saddle-bags git lost." "So ye couldn't be quite sure who you could trust," repeated Halloway. "I hopes ye knows now." But Brent, watching the light in the great fellow's eyes did not miss their hungry gleam and in a low voice he said, "Jack, _I'm_ not sure yet." CHAPTER XIII The conspiracy fathered by Lute Brown and Jase Mallows had its inception in a small coterie whose ambitions had been stirred to avarice by the bait of sharing among them a sum of over four thousand dollars. Ramifications of detail had necessitated the use of a larger force; a force so large, indeed, that anything like an equal distribution of booty would have intolerably eaten into the profits of the principals. Therefore the rank and file of employes were merely mercenaries, working for a flat wage.