“Fletcher, we've tracked a man to all but three miles of this place. Tracks as plain as the nose on your face. Found his camp. Then he hit into the brush, an' we lost the trail. Didn't have no tracker with us. Think he went into the mountains. But we took a chance an' rid over the rest of the way, seein' Ord was so close. Anybody come in here late last night or early this mornin'?” “Nope,” replied Fletcher. His response was what Duane had expected from his manner, and evidently the cowboy took it as a matter of course. He turned to the others of the posse, entering into a low consultation. Evidently there was difference of opinion, if not real dissension, in that posse. “Didn't I tell ye this was a wild-goose chase, comin' way out here?” protested an old hawk-faced rancher. “Them hoss tracks we follored ain't like any of them we seen at the water-tank where the train was held up.” “I'm not so sure of that,” replied the leader. “Wal, Guthrie, I've follored tracks all my life--' “But you couldn't keep to the trail this feller made in the brush.” “Gimme time, an' I could. Thet takes time. An' heah you go hell-bent fer election! But it's a wrong lead out this way. If you're right this road-agent, after he killed his pals, would hev rid back right through town. An' with them mail-bags! Supposin' they was greasers? Some greasers has sense, an' when it comes to thievin' they're shore cute.” “But we sent got any reason to believe this robber who murdered the greasers is a greaser himself. I tell you it was a slick job done by no ordinary sneak. Didn't you hear the facts? One greaser hopped the engine an' covered the engineer an' fireman. Another greaser kept flashin' his gun outside the train. The big man who shoved back the car-door an' did the killin'--he was the real gent, an' don't you forget it.” Some of the posse sided with the cowboy leader and some with the old cattleman. Finally the young leader disgustedly gathered up his bridle. “Aw, hell! Thet sheriff shoved you off this trail. Mebbe he hed reasons Savvy thet? If I hed a bunch of cowboys with me--I tell you what--I'd take a chance an' clean up this hole!” All the while Jim Fletcher stood quietly with his hands in his pockets. “Guthrie, I'm shore treasurin' up your friendly talk,” he said. The menace was in the tone, not the content of his speech. “You can--an' be damned to you, Fletcher!” called Guthrie, as the horses started. Fletcher, standing out alone before the others of his clan, watched the posse out of sight. “Luck fer you-all thet Poggy wasn't here,” he said, as they disappeared. Then with a thoughtful mien he strode up on the porch and led Duane away from the others into the bar-room. When he looked into Duane's face it was somehow an entirely changed scrutiny. “Dodge, where'd you hide the stuff? I reckon I git in on this deal, seein' I staved off Guthrie.”