“And now the devil's turned you into a snake. A long, scaly snake with green eyes! Uugh! You'll crawl on your belly soon--when my cowboy finds you. And he'll tramp you in the dust.” She floated away from them and began to whirl gracefully, arms spread and hair flying; and then, apparently oblivious of the staring men, she broke into a low, sweet song. Next she danced around a pine, then danced into her little green inclosure. From which presently she sent out the most doleful moans. “Aww! What a shame!” burst out Anson. “Thet fine, healthy, nervy kid! Clean gone! Daffy! Crazy 'n a bedbug!” “Shore it's a shame,” protested Wilson. “But it's wuss for us. Lord! if we was hoodooed before, what will we be now? Didn't I tell you, Snake Anson? You was warned. Ask Shady an' Moze--they see what's up.” “No luck 'll ever come our way ag'in,” predicted Shady, mournfully. “It beats me, boss, it beats me,” muttered Moze. “A crazy woman on my hands! If thet ain't the last straw!” broke out Anson, tragically, as he turned away. Ignorant, superstitious, worked upon by things as they seemed, the outlaw imagined himself at last beset by malign forces. When he flung himself down upon one of the packs his big red-haired hands shook. Shady and Moze resembled two other men at the end of their ropes. Wilson's tense face twitched, and he averted it, as apparently he fought off a paroxysm of some nature. Just then Anson swore a thundering oath. “Crazy or not, I'll git gold out of thet kid!” he roared. “But, man, talk sense. Are you gittin' daffy, too? I declare this outfit's been eatin' loco. You can't git gold fer her!” said Wilson, deliberately. “Why can't I?” “'Cause we're tracked. We can't make no dickers. Why, in another day or so we'll be dodgin' lead.” “Tracked! Whar 'd you git thet idee? As soon as this?” queried Anson, lifting his head like a striking snake. His men, likewise, betrayed sudden interest. “Shore it's no idee. I 'ain't seen any one. But I feel it in my senses. I hear somebody comin'--a step on our trail--all the time--night in particular. Reckon there's a big posse after us.” “Wal, if I see or hear anythin' I'll knock the girl on the head an' we'll dig out of hyar,” replied Anson, sullenly. Wilson executed a swift forward motion, violent and passionate, so utterly unlike what might have been looked for from him, that the three outlaws gaped. “Then you'll shore hev to knock Jim Wilson on the haid first,” he said, in voice as strange as his action. “Jim! You wouldn't go back on me!” implored Anson, with uplifted hands, in a dignity of pathos. “I'm losin' my haid, too, an' you shore might as well knock it in, an' you'll hev to before I'll stand you murderin' thet pore little gurl you've drove crazy.” “Jim, I was only mad,” replied Anson. “Fer thet matter, I'm growin' daffy myself. Aw! we all need a good stiff drink of whisky.”