n," Smith thought. There was something familiar in
the stranger's outlines, the way he threw his weight in one stirrup, but
Smith was taking no chances. He put out a hand in warning, and the other
man stopped.

The swarthy face of the stranger wore a comprehending grin. No honest man
drove horses across the Bad Lands. He threw the Indian sign of friendship
to Smith, and they each advanced.

"How far to water, Clayt?"

"Well, dog-gone me! Smith!"

"How far to water?" Smith yelled the words in hoarse ferocity.

The stranger glanced at the barebacked horses, and then at the shimmering
heat waves of the desert.

"Just around the ridge," he answered. "My God, man, didn't you pack
water?"

But Smith was already out of hearing.

XVI

TINHORN FRANK SMELLS MONEY

Smith did not care for money in itself; that is, he did not care for it
enough to work for it, or to hoard it when he had it. Yet perhaps even
more than most persons he loved the feel of it in his fingers, the
sensation of having it in his pocket. Smith was vain, in his way, and
money satisfied his vanity. It gave him prestige, power, the attention he
craved. He could call any flashy talker's bluff when his pockets were full
of money. It imparted self-assurance. He could the better indulge his
propensity for resenting slights, either real or fancied. Money would buy
him out of trouble. Yes, Smith liked the feel of money. He took a roll of
banknotes from the belt pocket of his leather chaps and counted them for
the third time.

"I'll buy a few drinks, flash this wad on them pinheads in town, and then
I'll soak it away." He returned the roll to his pocket with an expression
of satisfaction upon his face.

He had done well with the horses. The "boys" had paid him a third more
than he had expected; they had done so, he knew, as an incentive to
further transactions. And Smith had outlined a plan to them which had made
their eyes sparkle.

"It's risky, but if you can do it----" they had said.

"Sure, I can do it, and I'll start as soon as it's safe after I get back
to the ranch. I gotta get to work and make a stake--_me_," he had
declared.

They had looked at him quizzically.

"The fact is, I'm tired of livin' under my hat. I aims to settle down."

"And reform?" They had laughed uproariously.

"Not to notice."

Smith sincerely believed that nothing stood between him and Dora but his
lack of money. Once she saw it, the actual money, when he co