any man's mind. He was alone, the man
had him covered with the rifle, and assuredly this was one of Dunlavey's
hirelings.

Hollis glanced swiftly around. Certain signs--some shrubbery that he saw
through the canyon, a bald butte or two rising in the distance--told him
that he was near the river. And Norton had told him to keep away from
the river trail. In his eagerness to explore the country he had
forgotten all about Norton's warning.

The prospect was not a hopeful one, yet Hollis could not have admitted
to feeling any alarm. He realized that had the man intended any
immediate harm he would have shot him down long before this--while he
had sat motionless in the saddle inspecting the place. Concerning the
man's intentions he could only speculate, but assuredly they were not
peaceful.

For a little time the man remained motionless and Hollis sat quiet,
looking at him. The weapon had not moved; its muzzle still menaced him
and he watched it closely, wondering whether the man would give him any
warning when about to pull the trigger.

Many minutes dragged and the man did not move. A slow anger began to
steal over Hollis; the man's inaction grated on his nerves.

"Well!" he challenged sharply. "What do you want?"

There was no answer. Hollis could see only the man's head and shoulders
projecting above the boulder, and the rifle--steady and level--menacing
him. With an exclamation of rage and disdain he seized the bridle rein
and pulled sharply on it, swinging the pony's head around. The rifle
crashed venomously; Hollis felt the right sleeve of his shirt flutter,
and he pulled the pony abruptly up.

"Just to show you!" came the man's voice, mockingly. "If you move again
until I give the word you won't know where you've been hit!"

Hollis was satisfied--the man undoubtedly meant business. He settled
back into the saddle and looked down at his shirt sleeve. The bullet had
passed very close to the arm. If the man had meant the bullet for that
particular spot he was a deadly marksman. In the face of such marvelous
shooting Hollis did not care to experiment further. But his anger had
not yet abated.

"No doubt you are enjoying yourself!" he said with bitter sarcasm. "But
the pleasure is all yours. I am not enjoying myself a bit, I assure you.
And I don't like the idea of being a target for you to shoot at!"

A laugh came back to Hollis--a strange, unnatural, sardonic cackle that,
in spite of his self-control, cause