A fierce look crossed the dirty face of Gringo Pete. “I don’t mind tellin’ ye,” he scowled, “that the reason I took the animile is bekase it belonged ter one o’ that ole rawhide’s pards. Some day, ye kin bet yer bottom dollar, I’m goin’ ter git Buffler Bill’s skelp!” These remarks caused both Lige and Jerry to take renewed interest in their unsavory visitor. “What have you got against Buffalo Bill?” asked Lige, with a significant look at Jerry. “What hev I got ag’in him?” shouted Gringo, “me?” He stood up in the stirrups and shook his fist up the river. “Wasn’t it him as trimmed me fer all I was wuth? Wasn’t it that thar long-haired, meddlin’ coyote that busted up my bizness an’ took ev’ry dollar I got in the world? An’ ain’t I follered him all the way from Arizony ter Texas jest ter play even?” “How did he trim you?” demanded Lige Benner, more and more interested. Gringo Pete suddenly collapsed into his saddle. “I’m torkin’ more’n what I ort,” he mumbled. “I belonged ter a gang this hyar long-haired trouble-chaser put out o’ bizness. That’s all I’m tellin’. I want a job hyar bekase Buffler Bill is on the Brazos, an’ I want ter be nigh him. When he leaves--if he ever does--I’ll leave, too. I’ll foller him ter Ballyhack but what I’ll land on him afore I’m done. Now, do yer torkin’. Am I ter stay hyer, er am I ter ride on?” “Stay here, Gringo,” piped Jerry. “Get down,” added Lige. “I’ll have one of my men take care of your horse. I reckon we can give you a job.” Gringo Pete got down and Lige Benner yelled for one of his men to come up from below. “Don’t ye go ter puttin’ that hoss in yer wrangler’s herd,” protested Peter, “an’ don’t go gittin’ my gear mixed up with yer punchers’ equipment. S’posin’ some’un from ther Star-A blowed in hyer huntin’ that ’ar hoss?” “I’ll have the animal picketed down there among those trees,” said Lige, pointing to a little grove at the foot of the slope and on the river bank. “Your ridin’ traps will be left with the animal. If any one comes here from the Star-A looking for the horse, it’s a safe gamble the brute won’t be found. Make your mind easy about that, Gringo. Go into the house.” Gringo Pete turned and followed Jerry into the living room. Lige lingered in front to give orders to the man who had come for the horse. When Lige got into the house, Gringo was comfortably seated in a rocking-chair, smoking a black cigar which Jerry had given him. “Lige,” said Jerry, fixing his glittering eyes on his brother, “I’ve got a place for Gringo in my department.” That was the first time Lige Benner had learned that Jerry had a “department” at the ranch. “All right,” said Lige, “make your own deal with him.” “I’m going to have him work with Red Steve, Lige.” Red Steve was always called on for the murderous, underhand work that could not be safely entrusted to any one else. To yoke Gringo with Red Steve meant that the stranger was to be given labor of the “strong-arm” variety without delay.