t _that_ over in Dry Lake. There's a reward out for you over
there, an I wouldn't be surprised if there was some money on your head
in Arizona, Coyote!"

Rathburn's eyes were points of red between narrowed lids.

"The Coyote!" said Carlisle in a hoarse voice of triumph. "An' the way
it looks I'm the only one hereabouts that knows it."

"I told you you was plumb full of information," said Rathburn.

"The Coyote has a bit of a record, they tell me," Carlisle leered.
"There's more'n one sheriff would pay a pretty price to get him safe,
eh?"

"Just what's your idea in telling _me_ all this, Carlisle; why don't
you tell what you know to Mannix, say?"

"Maybe I'm just teasing you along."

"Not a chance, Carlisle. I know your breed."

The other's face darkened, and his eyes glittered as he peered in
through the bars.

"What's _your_ breed?" he asked sneeringly.

"I don't have to tell you that, Carlisle. You _know_!" said Rathburn
with a taunting laugh.

Carlisle struggled with his anger for a brief spell. Then he shrugged
his shoulders.

"I ain't going to poke at you in a cage," he said in a more civil
tone; "an' I ain't going to tell anybody what I know. Remember that."

"I ain't the forgetting kind," Rathburn flung after him as he walked
swiftly away.

Again Rathburn sat on the edge of the bunk and smoked and thought.
After a time he went to sleep. The opening of his cell door woke him.
It was Mannix.

"Come to let me out, sheriff?" inquired Rathburn sleepily.

The deputy looked at him keenly, opened the cage, and motioned to him
to follow. Rathburn went with him out into the little office. It was
broad day. Mannix picked up a pistol from his desk and extended it to
Rathburn.

"Here's your gun, Rathburn. You can go," he said, pressing his lips
close together.

"Well, now, sheriff, that's right kind of you," Rathburn drawled,
concealing his astonishment.

"Don't thank me," snapped out Mannix. "This gentleman asked me to set
you loose."

For the first time Rathburn looked squarely at the other man in the
office--a thin man, with a cropped mustache, beady eyes, and a narrow
face.

The man was regarding him intently, and there seemed to be an amused
expression in his eyes. He turned away from Rathburn's gaze.

"I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of meeting the gentleman,"
said Rathburn agreeably.

"That's George Sautee, manager of the Dixie Queen," said the deputy
with a shrug.

C