"Bill," said the young fellow, "what sort of a man is this Lanning?" "He's been a covered card, partner," said Bill Dozier. "He's been a covered card that seemed pretty good. Now he's in the game, and he looks like the rest of the Lannings--a good lump of daring and defiance. Why d'you ask?" "Are you keen to get him, Bill?" continued Charlie Merchant eagerly. "I could stand it. Again, why?" "You'd like a little gun play with that fellow?" "I wouldn't complain none." "Ah? One more thing. Could you use a bit of ready cash?" "I ain't pressed," said Bill Dozier. "On the other hand, I ain't of a savin' nature." Then he added: "Get it out, Charlie. I think I follow your drift. And you can go as far as you like." He put out his jaw in an ugly way as he said it. "It would be worth a lot to me to have this cur done for, Bill. You understand?" "My time's short. Talk terms, Charlie." "A thousand." "The price of a fair hoss." "Two thousand, old man." "Hoss and trimmin's." "Three thousand." "Charlie, you seem to forget that we're talkin' about a man and a gun." "Bill, it's worth five thousand to me." "That's turkey. Let me have your hand." They shook hands. "And if you kill the horses," said Charles Merchant, "you won't hurt my feelings. But get him!" "I've got nothing much on him," said Bill Dozier, "but some fools resist arrest." He smiled in a manner that made the other shudder. And a moment later the deputy led his men out on the trail. They were a weary lot by this time, but they had beneath the belt several shots of the Merchant whisky which Charles had distributed. And they had that still greater stimulus--fresh horses running smooth and strong beneath them. Another thing had changed. They saw their leader, Bill Dozier, working at his revolver and his rifle as he rode, looking to the charges, trying the pressure of the triggers, getting the balance of the weapons with a peculiar anxiety, and they knew, without a word being spoken, that there was small chance of that trail ending at anything short of a red mark in the dust. It made some of them shrug their shoulders, but here again it was proved that Bill Dozier knew the men of Martindale, and had picked his posse well. They were the common, hard-working variety of cow-puncher, and presently the word went among them from the man riding nearest to Bill that if young Lanning were taken it would be worth a hundred dollars to each of them. Two months' pay for two days' work. That was fair enough. They also began to look to their guns. It was not that a single one of them could have been bought for a mankilling at that or any other price, perhaps, but this was simply a bonus to carry them along toward what they considered an honest duty.