“Have it your way, Jerry,” answered Lige. “I’d like ter fix it so’st I kin have a leetle time o’ my own, now and then,” put in Gringo. “’Casionally I’d like ter take a pasear up the Brazos, keepin’ track o’ Buffler Bill.” “You’ll have plenty of time for that, Gringo,” said Jerry, with another of his weird laughs. “I’ll----” A man appeared in the door--a red-haired, evil-looking Texan. “I’m back,” the newcomer bawled, “an’ I’ve got Abraham Isaacs along.” “Dry up, Steve!” called Lige angrily. “Can’t you see we’re not alone here?” Lige turned to Jerry. The hunchback was already on his feet and opening a door leading into a rear room. “In here with you, Gringo,” said Jerry. “When I’m ready to talk with you again I’ll let you know.” “What am I ter do in thar?” queried Gringo Pete, moving toward the open door. “You’re to stay in that room till you’re called, Gringo,” replied the hunchback. Gringo Pete passed through the door. It was closed behind him, and he heard a bolt shoot into place. “By gorry!” thought Gringo Pete, otherwise Wild Bill, “suppose they’ve cottoned to the fact that I’m a fake. And suppose they have shoved the bolt on me, not because they want to have a private talk with this Isaacs, but because they are making me a prisoner on general principles? Well, we’ll see,” he finished grimly. “That talk I put up seemed to sink pretty deep.” He looked around him. His slouching manner had dropped from him as if by magic, and he had instantly become the alert, energetic Laramie man, ready for any turn of the wheel of fate. He was in a small room--a room with a single window opening in the direction of the river. Crossing to the window he looked out. The cowboy called by Lige Benner was moving down the hill and toward the small grove with Beeswax. What concerned Wild Bill most, however, was the figure of the red-haired Texan, leaning against the wall of the house, close to the window, and evidently on guard. “They sent Red Steve there to make sure I didn’t try to get away,” muttered Wild Bill. “Oh, I’m going to like this job, I know I am. It has all the exciting trimmings that capture my nimble fancy.” There was a table and a bed in the room. In one corner, also, there was a stone fireplace, built in the Mexican style. The stone chimney ran up along the end of the partition that separated the chamber from the living room. Recalling the “lay” of the living room, Wild Bill remembered that there was a fireplace in that department, and in the corner. The two angles formed by the partition and the adobe wall of the house, gave opportunity for two Mexican fireplaces from the one chimney--a fireplace in each room. With a stealthy, reassuring glance through the window at the lounging form of Red Steve, Wild Bill crossed to the narrow fireplace, crawled into it and stood upright. Voices reached his ears from the living room, and every spoken word was clear and distinct. CHAPTER XIII.