"I never did see anyone with a disposition so dark-complected as yours. If you won't put them suspicions to sleep I'll have to table my cards." From his pocket he drew a copy of the Saguache Sentinel and showed her a marked story. "Maybe that will explain what I'm doing up on Dead Cow." This was what Laura London read: From Mesa comes the news of another case of bold and flagrant rustling. On Friday night a bunch of horses belonging to the Bar Double M were rounded up and driven across the mountains to this city. The stolen animals were sold here this morning, after which the buyers set out at once for the border and the thieves made themselves scarce. It is claimed that the rustlers were members of the notorious Soapy Stone outfit. Two of the four were identified, it is alleged, as William Cranston, generally known as "Bad Bill," and a young vaquero called "Curly" Flandrau. At the time of going to press posses are out after both the outlaws and the stolen horses. Chances of overtaking both are considered excellent. All likely points and outlying ranches have been notified by telephone whenever possible. In case the guilty parties are apprehended the _Sentinel_ hopes an example will be made of them that will deter others of like stamp from a practice that has of late been far too common. Lawlessness seems to come in cycles. Just now the southern tier of counties appears to be suffering from such a sporadic attack. Let all good men combine to stamp it out. The time has passed when Arizona must stand as a synonym for anarchy. She looked up at the young man breathlessly, her pretty lips parted, her dilated eyes taking him in solemnly. A question trembled on her lips. "Say it," advised Flandrau. The courage to ask what she was thinking came back in a wave. "Then I will. Are you a rustler?" "That's what the paper says, don't it?" "Are you this man mentioned here? What's his name--'Curly' Flandrau?" "Yes." "And you're a rustler?" "What do you think? Am I more like a rustler than a deputy sheriff? Stands to reason I can't be both." Her eyes did not leave him. She brushed aside his foolery impatiently. "You don't even deny it." "I haven't yet. I expect I will later." "Why do men do such things?" she went on, letting the hands that held the paper drop into her lap helplessly. "You don't look bad. Anyone would think----" Her sentence tailed out and died away. She was still looking at Curly, but he could see that her mind had flown to someone else. He would have bet a month's pay that she was thinking of another lad who was wild but did not look bad. Flandrau rose and walked round the table to her. "Much obliged, Miss Laura. I'll shake hands on that with you. You've guessed it. Course, me being so 'notorious' I hate to admit it, but I ain't bad any more than he is." She gave him a quick shy look. He had made a center shot she was not expecting. But, womanlike, she did not admit it.