," the masked man was saying in
a loud voice which carried to Rathburn through cracks in the window
glass. "Line up down there, now--you hear me? Line up!"

The patrons lined up, keeping their faces toward the bandit.

"If anybody gets to acting uneasylike it'll be the signal for me to
start shootin'--understand?" came the holdup's menacing voice as he
moved around behind the bar.

"Open both cash drawers," he ordered the servitor in the white apron.
He covered the bartender with one gun while he kept the other pointed
in the direction of the men standing in line.

Obeying instructions, the bartender took the bills from the cash
drawers and laid them before the bandit on the bar. He then made
several piles of silver near the bills, walking to and from the
drawers of the big cash register. Continuing to do as he was told, he
stuffed the bank notes and silver into the masked man's pockets, one
gun's muzzle against his breast, the other holding the men in line at
bay.

Rathburn heard footsteps on the walk close to him. He whirled and saw
two men about to enter the resort. "I wouldn't go in there," he said
sharply in a low voice.

"Eh--what's that?"

The two men paused, looking at him questioningly.

"I wouldn't go in there," Rathburn repeated. "Come here an' take a
look."

One of the men stepped to his side and peered curiously through the
window.

"Bill!" he whispered excitedly. "Look here. It's a holdup!"

The other man looked over his shoulder. He swore softly.

"I'll bet it's The Coyote!" said the first man in an awed voice.

"Probably is," said Rathburn sneeringly. "They say he was heading this
way."

"Good place to stay out of--if it's _him_," declared the second man.

Rathburn suddenly pulled back his left sleeve. "See that?" he said,
pointing to his left forearm.

The two men stared at the bared forearm in the yellow light which
shone through the dust-stained window. They saw a scar about three
inches below the elbow.

"Looks like a bullet made that," one of the men observed.

"You're right," said Rathburn, letting down his shirt sleeve. "A
bullet from The Coyote's gun left that mark."

The men looked at him wonderingly and respectfully.

"You boys live here?" asked Rathburn.

"Sure," was the reply. "We work in the Pine Knot Hotel an' stables.
You from the hills?"

"Yep," answered Rathburn. "Cow-puncher an' horseshoer an' one thing
an' another. What's he doing now?" He again turned his