"’Nds up!" snapped the youth, his Colt glinting as it swung up. The hunter, gripping the rifle firmly, looked into the angry eyes of the other, and slowly obeyed. Bill, watching the rifle intently, forthwith learned a lesson he never forgot: never to watch a gun, but the eyes of the man who has it. The left hand of the hunter seemed to melt into smoke, and Bill, firing at the same instant, blundered into a hit when his surprise and carelessness should have cost him dearly. His bullet, missing its intended mark by inches, struck the still moving Colt of the other, knocking it into the air and numbing the hand that held it. A searing pain in his shoulder told him of the closeness of the call and set his lips into a thin, white line. The hunter, needing no words to interpret the look in the youth’s eyes, swiftly raised his hands, holding the rifle high above his head, but neglected to take his finger from the trigger. Bill was not overlooking anything now and he noticed the crooked finger. "Stick th’ muzzle _up_, an’ pull that trigger," he commanded, sharply. "Now!" he grated. The report came crashing back from half a dozen points as he nodded. "Drop it, an’ turn ’round." As the other obeyed he stepped cautiously forward, jammed his Colt into the hunter’s back and took possession of a skinning knife. A few moments later the hunter, trussed securely by a forty-foot lariat, lay cursing at the foot of the rock wall. Bill, collecting the weapons, went off to cache them and then peered over the mesa’s edge to look into the draw. A leaden splotch appeared on the rock almost under his nose and launched a crescendo scream into the sky to whine into silence. He ducked and leaped back, grinning foolishly as he realized Buck’s error. Turning to approach the edge from another point he felt his sombrero jerk at his head as another bullet, screaming plaintively, followed the first. He dropped like a shot, and commented caustically upon his paucity of brains as he gravely examined the hole in his head gear. "Huh!" he grunted. "I had a fool’s luck three times in twenty minutes,—d—d if I ’m goin’ to risk th’ next turn. _Three_ of ’em," he repeated. "I ’m a’ Injun from now on. An’ that foreman shore can shoot!" He wriggled to the edge and called out, careful not to let any of his anatomy show above the sky-line. "Hey, Buck! I ain’t no buffalo hunter! This is Cassidy, who you wanted to punch for you. Savvy?" He listened, and grinned at the eloquent silence. "You talk too rapid," he laughed. Repeating his statements he listened again, with the same success. "Now I wonder is he stalkin’ _me_? Hey, _Buck_!" he shouted. "Stick yore hands up an’ foller ’em with yore face," said Buck’s voice from below. Bill raised his arms and slowly stood up. "Now what ’n blazes do _you_ want?" demanded the foreman, belligerently.