ek. They were waiting for daylight,
and for the guard to grow sleepy and careless. With little more emotion
than hunters waiting in a blind for the birds to go over, the two men
examined their rifles and six-shooters. They talked in undertones,
laughing a little at some droll observation or reminiscence. Only by a
sparkle of deviltry in Babe's blue eyes, and an added gravity of
expression upon Ralston's face, at moments, would the closest observer
have known that anything unusual was about to take place. Yet each
realized to the fullest extent the possible dangers ahead of them. Smith,
they knew to be resourceful, he would be desperate, and Tubbs, ignorant
and weak of will as he was, might be frightened into a kind of frenzied
courage. The best laid plans did not always work out according to
schedule, and if by any chance they were discovered, and the thieves
reached their guns, the odds were equal. But it was not their way to talk
of danger to themselves. That there was danger was a fact, too obvious to
discuss, but that it was no hindrance to the carrying out of their plans
was also accepted as being too evident to waste words upon.

While the east grew pink, they talked of mutual acquaintances, of horses
they had owned, of guns and big game, of dinners they had eaten, of socks
and saddle blankets that had been stolen from them in cow outfits--the
important and trivial were of like interest to these old friends waiting
for what, as each well knew, might be their last sunrise.

Ralston finally crawled to the top of the cut-bank and looked cautiously
about.

"It's time," he said briefly.

"_Bueno_." Babe gave an extra twitch to the silk handkerchief knotted
about his neck, which, with him, signified a readiness for action.

He joined Ralston at the top of the cut-bank.

"Not a sign!" he whispered. "Looks like you and me owned the world,
Dick."

"We'll lead the horses a little closer, in case we need them quick. Then,
we'll keep that bunch of brush between us and them, till we get close
enough. You take Tubbs, and I'll cover Smith--I want that satisfaction,"
he added grimly.

It was a typical desert morning, redolent with sage, which the night's dew
brought out strongly. The pink light changing rapidly to crimson was
seeking out the draws and coulees where the purple shadows of night still
lay. The only sound was the cry of the mourning doves, answering each
other's plaintive calls. And across the panorama of ye