that had happened was the
sudden silencing of the noisy crowd.

The Mexican was not there. His companions, Bud and Bill, as Buell had
called them, were sitting at a table, and as Jim Williams walked into
the center of the room they slowly and gradually rose to their feet. One
was a swarthy man with evil eyes and a scar on his cheek; the other
had a brick-red face and a sandy mustache with a vicious curl. Neither
seemed to be afraid, only cautious.

"We're all lookin' for thet Greaser friend of yourn," drawled Jim. "I
shore want to see him bad."

"He's gone, Williams," replied one. "Was in somethin' of a rustle, an'
didn't leave no word."

"Wal, I reckon he's all we're lookin' for this pertickler minnit."

Jim spoke in a soft, drawling voice, and his almost expressionless tone
seemed to indicate pleasant indifference; still, no one could have been
misled by it, for the long, steady gaze he gave the men and his cool
presence that held the room quiet meant something vastly different.
No reply was offered. Bud and Bill sat down, evidently to resume their
card-playing. The uneasy silence broke to a laugh, then to subdued
voices, and finally the clatter and hum began again. Dick led me
outside, where we were soon joined by Jim.

"He's holed up," suggested Dick.

"Shore. I don't take no stock in his hittin' the trail. He's layin'
low."

"Let's look around a bit, anyhow."

Dick took me back to the cook's cabin and, bidding me remain inside,
strode away. I beard footsteps so soon after his departure that I made
certain he had returned, but the burly form which blocked the light in
the cabin door was not Dick's. I was astounded to recognize Buell.

"Hello!" he said, in his blustering voice. "Heard you had reached camp,
an' have been huntin' you up."

I greeted him pleasantly enough--more from surprise than from a desire
to mislead him. It seemed to me then that a child could have read Buell.
He'd an air of suppressed excitement; there was a glow on his face and
a kind of daring flash in his eyes. He seemed too eager, too glad to see
me.

"I've got a good job for you," he went on, glibly, "jest what you want,
an' you're jest what I need. Come into my office an' help me. There'll
be plenty of outside work--measurin' lumber, markin' trees, an' such."

"Why, Mr. Buell--I--you see, Dick--he might not--"

I hesitated, not knowing how to proceed. But at my halting speech Buell
became even more smiling and voluble.

"