"Yes; so Lewis says. He says _he ’d_ called it Split Mesa Crick, ’cause it empties into Mesa River plumb acrost from a big mesa what’s split in two as clean as a knife could ’a’ done it." [Illustration: There was a sharp report] "The Bar-20 expectin’ you?" casually asked Jim as he picked up his saddle. "Shore; they done sent for me. Me an’ Buck is old friends. He was up in Montana ranchin’ with a pardner, but Slippery Trendley kills his pardner’s wife an’ drove th’ feller loco. Buck an’ him hunted Slippery for two years an’ finally drifted back south again. I dunno where Frenchy is. If it wasn’t for me I reckon Buck ’d still be on th’ warpath. You bet he ’s expectin’ me!" He turned and threw his saddle on the evil-tempered horse he rode and, cinching deftly, slung himself up by the stirrup. As he struck the saddle there was a sharp report and he pitched off and sprawled grotesquely on the sand. The little man peered through the smoke and slid his gun back into the holster. He turned to his companions, who looked on idly and with but little interest. "Yo ’re d—d right Butch Lynch is too slick to get killed. I ain’t takin’ no chances with nobody that rides over my trail these days. An’, boys, I got a great scheme! It comes to me like a flash when he ’s talkin’. Come on, pull out; an’ don’t open yore traps till I says so. I want to figger this thing out to th’ last card. George, shoot his cayuse; an’ not another sound." "But that’s a good cayuse; worth easy—" "Shoot it!" shouted Jim, his eyes snapping. It was unnecessary to add the alternative, for George and his companion had great respect for the lightning-like, deadly-accurate gun hands. He started to draw, but was too late. The crashing report seemed to come from the leader’s holster, so quick had been the draw, and the horse sank slowly down, but unobserved. Two pairs of eyes asked a question of the little man and he sneered in reply as he lowered the gun. "It might ’a’ been you. Hereafter do what I say. Now, go on ahead, an’ keep quiet." After riding along in silence for a little while the leader looked at his companions and called one of them to him. "George, this job is too big for the three of us; we can handle the ranch end, but not the drive. You know where Longhorn an’ his bunch are holdin’ out on th’ Tortilla? All right; I ’ve got a proposition for ’em, an’ you are goin’ up with it. It won’t take you so long if you wake up an’ don’t loaf like you have been. Now you listen close, an’ don’t forget a word": and the little man shared the plan he had worked out, much to his companion’s delight. Having made the messenger repeat it, the little man waved him off: "Get a-goin’; you bust some records or I ’ll bust you, savvy? Charley ’ll wait for you at that Split Mesa that fool puncher was a-talkin’ about. An’ don’t you ride nowheres near it goin’ up—keep to th’ east of it. So-long!"