The tall man adopted a placative tone. "I ain't wantin' to butt into your business," he said. "I was wantin' to find out if any one around here knowed you." "This town didn't send any reception committee to meet me, did they?" smiled the stranger. "Correct," said the tall man. He leaned closer. "You willin' to work your guns for me for a hundred a month?" The stranger looked steadily into the tall man's eyes. "You've been right handy askin' questions," he said. "Mebbe you'll answer some. What's your name?" "Stafford," returned the tall man. "I'm managin' the Two Diamond, over on the Ute." The stranger's eyelashes flickered slightly. His eyes narrowed quizzically. "What you wantin' of a gun-man?" he asked. "Rustler," returned the other shortly. The stranger smiled. "Figger on shootin' him?" he questioned. Stafford hesitated. "Well, no," he returned. "That is, not until I'm sure I've got the right one." He seized the stranger's arm in a confidential grip. "You see," he explained, "I don't know just where I'm at. There's been a rustler workin' on the herd, an' I ain't been able to get close enough to find out who it is. But rustlin' has got to be stopped. I've sent over to Raton to get a man named Ned Ferguson, who's been workin' for Sid Tucker, of the Lazy J. Tucker wrote me quite a while back, tellin' me that this man was plum slick at nosin' out rustlers. He was to come to the Two Diamond two weeks ago. But he ain't showed up, an' I've about concluded that he ain't comin'. An' so I come over to Dry Bottom to find a man." "You've found one," smiled the stranger. Stafford drew out a handful of double eagles and pressed them into the other's hand. "I'm goin' over to the Two Diamond now," he said. "You'd better wait a day or two, so's no one will get wise. Come right to me, like you was wantin' a job." He started toward the hitching rail for his pony, hesitated and then walked back. "I didn't get your name," he smiled. The stranger's eyes glittered humorously. "It's Ferguson," he said quietly. Stafford's eyes widened with astonishment. Then his right hand went out and grasped the other's. "Well, now," he said warmly, "that's what I call luck." Ferguson smiled. "Mebbe it's luck," he returned. "But before I go over to work for you there's got to be an understandin'. I c'n shoot some," he continued, looking steadily at Stafford, "but I ain't runnin' around the country shootin' men without cause. I'm willin' to try an' find your rustler for you, but I ain't shootin' him--unless he goes to crowdin' me mighty close." "I'm agreein' to that," returned Stafford. He turned again, looking back over his shoulder. "You'll sure be over?" he questioned. "I'll be there the day after to-morrow," stated Ferguson. He turned and went into the Silver Dollar. Stafford mounted his pony and loped rapidly out of town. CHAPTER III THE CABIN IN THE FLAT