“No, boss, I ain't. You allus said we might hit it rich. But them promises was made to you. An' it 'd be jest like thet greaser to go back on his word now we got the gurl.” “Son, it happens we got the wrong one. Our long-haired pard hyar--Mister Riggs--him with the big gun--he waltzes up with this sassy kid instead of the woman Beasley wanted.” Burt snorted his disgust while Shady Jones, roundly swearing, pelted the smoldering camp-fire with stones. Then they all lapsed into surly silence. The object of their growing scorn, Riggs, sat a little way apart, facing none of them, but maintaining as bold a front as apparently he could muster. Presently a horse shot up his ears, the first indication of scent or sound imperceptible to the men. But with this cue they all, except Wilson, sat up attentively. Soon the crack of iron-shod hoofs on stone broke the silence. Riggs nervously rose to his feet. And the others, still excepting Wilson, one by one followed suit. In another moment a rangy bay horse trotted out of the cedars, up to the camp, and his rider jumped off nimbly for so heavy a man. “Howdy, Beasley?” was Anson's greeting. “Hello, Snake, old man!” replied Beasley, as his bold, snapping black eyes swept the group. He was dusty and hot, and wet with sweat, yet evidently too excited to feel discomfort. “I seen your smoke signal first off an' jumped my hoss quick. But I rode north of Pine before I headed 'round this way. Did you corral the girl or did Riggs? Say!--you look queer!... What's wrong here? You haven't signaled me for nothin'?” Snake Anson beckoned to Bo. “Come out of the shade. Let him look you over.” The girl walked out from under the spreading cedar that had hidden her from sight. Beasley stared aghast--his jaw dropped. “Thet's the kid sister of the woman I wanted!” he ejaculated. “So we've jest been told.” Astonishment still held Beasley. “Told?” he echoed. Suddenly his big body leaped with a start. “Who got her? Who fetched her?” “Why, Mister Gunman Riggs hyar,” replied Anson, with a subtle scorn. “Riggs, you got the wrong girl,” shouted Beasley. “You made thet mistake once before. What're you up to?” “I chased her an' when I got her, seein' it wasn't Nell Rayner--why--I kept her, anyhow,” replied Riggs. “An' I've got a word for your ear alone.” “Man, you're crazy--queerin' my deal thet way!” roared Beasley. “You heard my plans.... Riggs, this girl-stealin' can't be done twice. Was you drinkin' or locoed or what?” “Beasley, he was giving you the double-cross,” cut in Bo Rayner's cool voice. The rancher stared speechlessly at her, then at Anson, then at Wilson, and last at Riggs, when his brown visage shaded dark with rush of purple blood. With one lunge he knocked Riggs flat, then stood over him with a convulsive hand at his gun. “You white-livered card-sharp! I've a notion to bore you.... They told me you had a deal of your own, an' now I believe it.”