There was a heavy silence. Both rolled and lit cigarettes. The woman watched through the window, and her heart ached at their attempt to appear casual and indifferent. She knew that here were two men, twin brothers, who had slept together, fought side by side in a feud that had rocked the whole West, until at last they were the only ones left. They had no other kin; all had died in the feud. Yet the two had been separated by an impassable gulf since that day when Jim Allen had shot and killed a United States army captain. That the killing had been deserved and had prevented an Indian uprising made no difference. Jack was one who believed in the letter of the law. "Yuh remember when we was kids an' pa used to hide our dinner an' make us track it or go hungry?" Jim asked. "Yeh. Yuh was always better'n me. Guess yuh are still," Jack answered and stared down the gulch. He had less ability to hide his feelings than his twin; Jim had been forced to wear a mask so long it had become second nature to him. Jim Allen's freckled face split in a wide grin. "Yuh try livin' in the desert where yuh got to track lizards or go hungry an' yuh'll soon learn trackin'!" Suddenly the restraint between the two dropped away. They were once more boys, brothers. Jim pointed at Jack's high heels and then threw back his head and laughed aloud. "The only lollygaholopus an' wampus on stilts out of a museum! Ha-ha-ha!" "Yuh darn little hoss thief!" Jack retorted. "Yuh still got Honey Boy, the hoss yuh stole from me? Lissen, you! Yuh want to stop laughin' or some day the top of your head will fall off." The two stood there and thoroughly abused each other, mixing their abuse with fighting words. But in each case the fighting words were terms of endearment. But again the twins grew silent. Jack was thinking of the day after to-morrow when he intended to post his list of undesirables. Jim headed the list. "Listen, Jack," the little outlaw said earnestly. "I'm thinkin' that quartz gang what robbed Pop last week sure dropped that Mex kid, thinkin' it was Pop. They tried to down him deliberate. I figger some gent knows Pop is due to strike it rich and figgered on buyin' the American Beauty cheap from the widow. An' don't forget that gent is runnin' with the quartz gang!" He lowered his voice and explained his theory, but after he had finished, Jack shook his head. "I don't blame yuh, but your life has made yuh too darn suspicious. Yuh suspect everybody." "Mebbe so, but yuh got to set a thief to ketch a thief!" There was a touch of bitterness in Jim's voice. It was a long while before he spoke again. "I'm tellin' yuh, Jack, there is somethin' darned funny about how an' why them gents sent for yuh. They aim to double cross yuh, or somebody else, or mebbe both!" Jim warned. "Why?" Jack smiled unbelievingly. "Mebbe they got yuh down here to do somethin' they're scared to do," Jim suggested. "What?"