By now they had approached the cook house and the corral. McMasters had his bridle from the saddle that straddled the pole near the bunk-house door. Soon he had his horse under saddle. His pistol belt was now in place again. The foreman looked at it curiously as the two walked toward the rawhide gate. Nabours pushed it open. As he did so a warning rattle sounded almost underfoot. He sprang back with an oath. With the word came a shot, not from his own weapon. The brown body of the serpent was flung writhing, headless. McMasters’ pistol was back at its belt when Nabours turned. “Who done that?” he demanded. “I did,” said McMasters. “You’d have stepped on him.” “Well, if I want to step on a rattler, that’s my business, ain’t it? Maybe I like to step on them. You shooting made me jump. Still, quick work, huh?” “I don’t know.” “Are you a good shot?” “I was elected sheriff of Gonzales. I am a captain in the Texas Rangers.” His face was grave as he spoke, sad rather than boastful. “What’s that?” suddenly exclaimed Jim Nabours. “Listen!” The sound of hoofs had come suddenly from around the bend of the trail that wound through the mesquite thicket screening the gate; hoofs of more than one animal, not coming but going. “Wait!” The sound of the young man’s voice deterred Nabours as much as his hand. He stood, absorbed, frowning, listening to the receding hoof beats. The rhythm told him the horses had riders. At last he beckoned to Nabours. The two set out down the trail. “Look here!” said Dan McMasters at length as they rounded the bend. At a clump of huisache the tracks of six horses could be seen making a trampled spot back of the bushes. It all was plainly visible to eyes experienced as these. “They was tied!” said Jim Nabours. McMasters nodded, bending over the bruised stems which the reins had covered. “They must have closed up a lot last night,” said Dan McMasters cryptically, as though to himself. “They couldn’t have been far off this morning. “Thank you, Mr. Rattler!” He smiled grimly as he kicked at a crooked stick for substitute of the dead snake. “You served me a good turn!” CHAPTER V MARRIAGE, COWS AND CARPETBAGS THE foreman of Del Sol stood, hands in pockets, for some time, looking down the trace whither the late visitor had disappeared. His head was dropped forward, as one in studious distrust of his own judgment; a frown yet more wrinkled his forehead. At length he turned and found his way, not to the corrals, but to the house. Blancocito still stood dozing in the sun. The mistress of Del Sol was not riding this morning. Jim knocked at the front door. “Come!” He entered. Taisie was sitting at the end of the rawhide settee, still in her bravest finery. Her hands lay in her lap; her eyes were somber, clouded; doubt, distrust appeared her portion also.