"Got everything ready for the girl?" "Say, who the hell are youse?" "One of Slim's friends. Listen, we got the kid--picked her up at a drug-store." "I don' know watcher fairy tale's about. If you gotta message come through with it." Clay put his foot against the door to prevent it from being closed and drew his hand from the overcoat pocket. In the hand nestled a blue-nosed persuader. Unless the eyes peering into the night were bad barometers of their owner's inner state, he was in a panic of fear. "Love o' Gawd, d-don't shoot!" he chattered. "I ain't nobody but the caretaker." He backed slowly away, followed by Lindsay. The barrel of the thirty-eight held his eyes fascinated. By the light of his flash Clay discovered the man to be a chalk-faced little inconsequent. "Say, don't point that at me," the old fellow implored. "Are you alone?" "I told you I was." "Is Jerry comin' himself with the others?" "They don't none of them tell me nothin'. I'm nobody. I'm only Joey." "Unload what you know. Quick. I'm in a hurry." The man began a rambling, whining tale. The Arizonan interrupted with questions, crisp and incisive. He learned that a room had been prepared on the second floor for a woman. Slim had made the arrangements. Joe had heard Durand's name mentioned, but knew nothing of the plans. "I'll look the house over. Move along in front of me and don't make any mistakes. This six-gun is liable to permeate yore anatomy with lead." The cattleman examined the first floor with an especial view to the exits. He might have to leave in a hurry. If so, he wanted to know where he was going. The plan of the second story was another point he featured as he passed swiftly from room to room. From the laundry in the basement he had brought up a coil of clothes-line. With this he tied Joe hand and foot. After gagging him, he left the man locked in a small rear room and took the key with him. Clay knew that he was in a precarious situation. If Durand returned with Kitty and captured him here he was lost. The man would make no more mistakes. Certainly he would leave no evidence against him except that of his own tools. The intruder would probably not be killed openly. He would either simply disappear or he would be murdered with witnesses framed to show self-defense. The cattleman was as much outside the law as the criminals were. He had no legal business in this house. But one thing was fixed in his mind. He would be no inactive victim. If they got him at all it would be only after a fighting finish. To Clay, standing at the head of the stairs, came a sound that stiffened him to a tense wariness. A key was being turned in the lock of the street door below. He moved back into the deeper shadows as the door swung open. Two men entered. One of them cursed softly as he stumbled against a chair in the dark hall. "Where's that rat Joe?" he demanded in a subdued voice.