“Jist what I expected. Them jaspers done left their hosses over by that bunch of cottonwoods. Look! See it?” “See what?” “Come on, Ricky, and keep down low. They’ve left one feller over there with th’ hosses and, Ricky, he’s smokin’ uh real cigaret!” “Uh cigaret,” murmured Ricky. “Mama mine, I’d spank uh female grizzly’s cub in th’ ol’ lady’s presence for one long drag on uh cigaret. Ouch—gol dang——” “_Sh-h-h-h!_” sibilated Zeb. “Aw—if you’d got yer knees in uh cactus patch you’d say _sh-h-h-h-h_!” retorted Ricky in an undertone. They sneaked around behind the patch of cottonwoods and in behind the four horses. Those range-bred horses made no move except to nuzzle Ricky as he whispered— “Steady li’l bronks.” The cowboy sat on his heels some distance in front of the horses and puffed away at his cigaret. Ricky got one good whiff of that cigaret and then took one long step and dove straight for the unsuspecting cowboy. Ricky’s right arm described a short arc as he plunged, and the cowboy rolled over without a sound. Ricky got up and rolled him over and felt of his heart. “Fine work!” he exclaimed. “That loaded quirt I took off that saddle was jist th’ thing, Zeb. Look what I got.” He held up a sack of tobacco and a book of cigaret-papers. “And that ain’t all either,” he continued. “I found this roll uh bills in th’ same pocket and——” “Ricky, we ain’t thieves,” stated Zeb. “Not any,” agreed Ricky. “But, Zeb, this ain’t stealin’. Somebody’s got to pay th’ freight, and it’s uh cinch that I ain’t goin’ to search fer Watts to collect uh few days’ pay. We simply got to have uh little money and if it eases yore mind any, Zeb, you can consider this my money, _sabe_?” “They’re comin’ back, Ricky!” Loud voices raised in a heated argument floated across the sage-brush flat and coming closer all the time. “You take that big roan, Ricky, and I’ll take th’ black. Slip th’ bridles off the other two and cut their cinches.” It was but a moment’s work to slip the rigs off the extra horses, and then they mounted and moved off slowly in the shadow of the trees until they were behind the cottonwoods. Suddenly there was a shout from the cowboys and they knew their work had been discovered. Ricky pulled up his big roan and turned in the saddle. “Walk, dang yuh, walk!” he yelled at the top of his voice and then, spurring their horses, they streaked off across the moonlit foothills in the general direction of Mill City, followed by a scattering volley of pistol-shots and unprintable remarks. It was noon the next day when they rode into the little town of Mill City. They had taken the wrong road and had ridden miles out of their way before they met a person who set them on the right trail. They rode up in front of a Chinese restaurant and Ricky handed his reins to Zeb and slid painfully to the ground. “I’ll order everything he’s got,” he announced. “You put them horses in a stable some place and hurry back. Gosh, I’m starved plumb to death.”