"We've got 'em both. Jest hold on about five minutes an' we'll fix you out." "An' then string me up," the words came with difficulty and the man in front laughed shortly. "Well, mebbe not. I'm guessin' young feller, mebbe you've lit luckier'n what you think." They turned abruptly into a side coulee, and a few moments later the spokesman ordered Purdy to dismount. He staggered weakly, and the man supported him while the other took the horse and disappeared. After a few steps Purdy braced up, and relieving him of his gun the man bade him follow. They seemed to be in a cave. Purdy glanced upward and could see no stars. The darkness was intense, and he placed his hand on the man's shoulder. They turned a sharp corner and another and found themselves in a blaze of light. Three men lounged about an open fire, and the light from two coal-oil lamps lighted the interior of what seemed to be a large room. Cooking utensils were ranged neatly along the wall near the fire, and beyond, Purdy could see rolls of bedding. The man who conducted him in tendered him a tin cup of water and Purdy gulped it greedily to the last drop and extended the cup for more. "Better wait a bit an' let that soak in," advised the man, "they's plenty an' you kin have all you want." The other three men looked on in silence, and when Purdy had drained two more cupfuls of water, one of them motioned him to be seated. Another handed him tobacco and papers, and as he rolled a cigarette, Purdy glanced about with a distinct air of relief. This was no posse. There was an air of permanency about the camp, and as he glanced into the faces of the men he recognized none of them. When he had returned the tobacco and lighted his cigarette, one of the men addressed him directly. Purdy noticed that he was a squat man, and that the legs of his leather chaps bowed prodigiously. He was thick and wide of chest, a tuft of hair protruded grotesquely from a hole in the crown of his soft-brimmed hat, and a stubby beard masked his features except for a pair of beady, deep-set eyes that stared at Purdy across the glowing brands of the dying fire. He tossed his cigarette into the coals and spoke abruptly: "What you doin' down here? Where you headin'?" Purdy glanced into the eyes that seemed to flash menacingly as a brand flared feebly. Then he lied: "Headin' fer south of the Mizoo. Got a job down there." "Who with?" "Don't know the name. It's out of Lewiston. Feller come through couple of days ago an' said they was short-handed." "Cow outfit?" "Yup." "That why yer ridin' a Circle J horse? An' why you snuck into the brush back yonder an' laid low while Pete, here, rode past a-singin' 'Big Foot Sal'?" The man's eyes were still upon him, and Purdy knew that he had been caught in his lie. He glanced toward the man called Pete, and recognized the leisurely rider of the afternoon. The man who had conducted him in laughed, and Purdy was surprised that the sound held a note of genuine amusement: