“Well, you’ve got ’em over there,” went on Bertram, looking into the adjoining waiting room, where, in a haze of blue smoke, many cow-punchers could be seen, lolling about on bed rolls, waiting for the calling of their train. They were, as Bertram said, a formidable-looking outfit. Nearly every man had a record as a killer. With big pistols slapping at their hips, as they walked, and with rifles in leather scabbards, stacked in the corners of the room, or leaning against the rolls of bedding, the outfit took on the appearance of an armed camp, during a moment of ease. Tom Hoog, who had been mentioned by Bertram as the leader of this daredevil lot, sat apart from the others, gloomily smoking. He was of medium height, spare but sinewy, with an aquiline nose, which tended to curve downward over a thin-lipped mouth, in which a cigarette was always crimped as in a vise. Hoog’s hands evidently were his pride. They were long and slim, and they had always been kept so well gauntleted that they were as white as a gambler’s. A wonderful shot with rifle or revolver and gifted with uncanny quickness on the “draw,” Hoog had a reputation as a killer that had made his name feared throughout the district. “Those fellows are all right,” went on Swingley, “but, outside of Hoog, they ain’t oversupplied with brains. That’s the big reason why I wanted to get you. With you and Hoog as my lieutenants I’m goin’ to be sure that things will go right, and my orders will be carried out.” “Much obliged,” replied Bertram dryly. “I had you in mind right from the first,” continued Swingley, with a keen glance at the young cattleman’s ingenuous face. “I knowed you had a row with your uncle, old Bill Bertram. Old Bill’s a hard one for any one to get along with, and the more land he gits control of the harder he is on them around him. I’m glad you’ve come in, even if it is at the last minute. Our special train’ll go inside of an hour, right behind the regular train for the north. You’ll have to look after your own beddin’ and guns and other stuff, but the wranglers’ll see to gettin’ your saddle aboard the baggage car, after they’ve loaded the horses, which they’re doin’ now. I’ll look for you around here in about an hour.” The big cattleman rose and, with a growled “good-by” to Bertram, made his way to the adjoining room, where he took a hasty survey of the scene and spoke a few words to Hoog. After satisfying himself that none of the cow-punchers had succumbed to the lure of the town and drifted away from the station, Swingley strode out on the platform and was lost to sight along the tracks, where he had gone to superintend the last of the loading of the horses. Left alone, Bertram smoked a moment, with his elbow on the arm of the bench. He knew that he had engaged in a desperate enterprise of some sort, but the thought of withdrawing was prompted not by the danger, but by the suspicion, that perhaps the expedition was of a shady character.