“Women everywhere. Aint it hell?” demanded Sagebrush, when they were at a safe distance. “And now what?” “Walk in on the four of them,” said Ramsay promptly. “And we have ’em.” “Nope. Them cholo women would jump us in the back in a minute. Then, if anything went wrong, the bunch would scatter in the darkness. We don’t know the lay o’ the ground.” “All right. Then stick to our original plan.” Sagebrush dissented with a grunt. “Pardner, it means the females fight with the men. Now, I jest naturally can’t abide that notion nohow. When it comes to puttin’ a bullet into a female, I pass. We got to sep’rate them fellers from the females.” “Granted,” assented Ramsay at once. “How?” “There aint but one way out o’ this yere cañon—the front way. Let’s you and me go back through that hole in the wall and wait. If anybody comes, we got him; if anybody leaves, we got him. Then, come sunup, we lights a fire out beyond. They see the smoke, and most likely that feller Ximines comes out to investigate. We got him. The other fellers come out when he don’t return—and we got ’em all.” “Good,” said Ramsay. “Let’s go.” CHAPTER IX All that night coyotes howled dismally upon the hills; and Ramsay, stretched out beside Sagebrush near the “hole in the wall,” wakened from time to time at their almost human cries. The scheme proposed by the old desert rat was simple and promised to be highly effective. It had only one drawback, common to all human propositions—it failed to take into account the dispensations of Providence, not anticipating the unexpected. The misty gray darkness that precedes dawn was over everything when Ramsay, on watch, awakened Sagebrush, and the desert rat sat up, shivering. “Gosh, it’s cold!” he observed, throwing off his blankets and pulling on his boots. Thus finishing dressing operations, he rose. Their camp was just outside the rock crevice which gave access to the inner cañon. “Might’s well git us some hot coffee while we’re makin’ that fire. I’ll rustle up some bresh along the slopes while you’re gittin’ the grub. Little skillet layin’ in my pack for the side-meat. We got lots o’ time—they wont disciver our smoke until after sunup.” He shuffled off toward the slopes on the right, and disappeared in the darkness. Ramsay went to work at breakfast, preparing the coffee with the last of their water and slicing up some bacon. Getting some dry and dead twigs together, Ramsay heaped them in readiness to build a fire. As he rose, a voice suddenly impinged sharply on his consciousness. “Up with ’em, stranger—reach high and quick!” He put up his hands, and turned. There, standing at the rock opening through which he must have come unobserved, stood the tall, stooped figure of Gentleman Jimson, his pistol covering Ramsay. “What you doing here?” demanded Jimson. “Who you looking for?” His rifle out of reach, Ramsay knew himself caught. His brain worked swiftly.