Bertram had not put on his coat, but still stood in his leather apron, a sledge hammer in his hand. “That’s right, Milt,” said Swingley, reining his horse beside the young Texan, “you stay here and be ready to bring up this go-devil when I send for it. Arch Beam, you stay here with him.” Bertram knew that Swingley was suspicious, that he had detailed Beam as his guard. He smiled grimly, as the leader of the expedition clattered away at the head of his half of the command. “Arch,” said Bertram, as the last echo of hoofs died away, “let’s see your gun.” “Sure,” said the cowboy, handing over his six-shooter, with a grin. Bertram put the weapon in his own belt, beneath the blacksmith’s apron. Then he stepped to the cowboy’s horse, which was standing riderless in the doorway. Drawing Beam’s rifle from its scabbard Bertram extracted the cartridges from the magazine. Then he put the weapon back where he had found it. “Now Arch,” said Bertram calmly, “consider yourself held up. Both guns are useless, and I’ll ask you to step back in the shop and not move, while I undo a little piece of work I’ve had to do for Swingley.” “Sure,” replied the imperturbable Arch, with a grin, “I’ve seen so many queer things on this queer picnic that nothin’ is goin’ to surprise me--I’ll give you warnin’ of that.” Bertram swung the sledge and with half a dozen strokes destroyed the wheels of the go-devil, past all fixing. Then he flung the hammer into one corner of the smithy and, rolling down his sleeves, put on his coat. “Arch,” he said, “I’m quitting this expedition right here. Want to desert with me?” “I don’t guess I do,” replied Arch, surprised in spite of himself. “The people in this country will scalp you alive when they learn that you came in here with this gang. You’d better stay on and chance it with us, Milt.” “I’d have to fight Swingley when he saw that,” replied Bertram, pointing grimly to the destroyed go-devil. “Between the two camps of enemies I seem to have made, there’s nothing for me to do but take to the brush. Good-by, Arch, and sorry to have had to hold you up.” Bertram flung down the cowboy’s empty gun and, swinging into his own saddle, cantered down the road, with a backward wave of his hand to the puzzled cowboy in the doorway of the blacksmith shop. CHAPTER IV A BATTLE AND A BULLET. Bertram knew that the wagons would soon be coming along, under guard. Accordingly he turned off toward the foothills, which were beginning to be touched with pink. At a few rods from the road he was indistinguishable in the tall sagebrush and scattered groves of quaking asp and cottonwood. As he neared the foothills the tree growths became thicker, and soon he was moving in a forest which was comparatively free from down timber and underbrush.