Returning from the station, Hartwell drove rapidly until he came to the foot of the mountain that rose above the nearly level mesa. Even then he tried to urge his jaded team into a pace in some consonance with his anxiety; but the steep grades and the rarefied air appealed more strongly to the exhausted animals than did the stinging lash he wielded. As, utterly blown, they came to a rest at the top of a steep grade, Hartwell became aware of the presence of three men who rose leisurely as the team halted. Two of them stood close by the horses' heads, the third paused beside the wagon. "Howdy!" he saluted, with a grin. "What do you want?" A hold-up was the only thing that occurred to Hartwell. "Just a little sociable talk. You ain't in no hurry?" The grin broadened. "I am." Hartwell reached for his whip. "None of that!" The grin died away. The two men each laid a firm hand on the bridles. "Will you tell me what this means?" There was not a quaver in Hartwell's voice, no trace of fear in his eyes. "By-and-by. You just wait. You got a gun?" "No; I haven't." "I don't like to dispute a gentleman; but it's better to be safe. Just put up your hands." Hartwell complied with the request. The man passed his hands rapidly over Hartwell's body, then turned away. "All right," he said, then seated himself and began filling his pipe. "How long am I expected to wait?" Hartwell's tone was sarcastic. "Sorry I can't tell you. It just depends. I'll let you know when." He relapsed into silence that Hartwell could not break with all his impatient questions or his open threats. The men left the horses' heads and seated themselves in the road. It occurred to Hartwell to make a dash for liberty, but there was a cartridge-belt on each man and holsters with ready guns. In the deep cañon the twilight was giving way to darkness that was only held in check by the strip of open sky above and by a band of yellow light that burned with lambent tongues on the waving foliage which overhung the eastern cliff. Chattering squirrels and scolding magpies had long since ceased their bickerings; if there were other sounds that came with the night, they were overcome by the complaining river which ceased not day nor night to fret among the boulders that strewed its bed. Like a shaft of light piercing the darkness a whistle sounded, mellowed by distance. The man near the wagon spoke. "That's a special. Where in hell's Jack?" "On deck." A fourth man came to a halt. He paused, wiping the perspiration from his face. "They're coming, a hundred strong. Jakey coughed it up, and it didn't cost a cent." He laughed. "It's Jack Haskins's crowd, too." The man by the wagon addressed Hartwell. "I can tell you now. It's an all-night wait. Tumble out lively. Better take your blankets, if you've got any. It's liable to be cool before morning right here. It'll be hotter on the mountain, but you'd better stay here." Hartwell did not stir.