ictim with his hands above his head while he pulled the saddle from his
horse and threw it upon his own. The dude rode a saddle with a double
cinch, and the fact had awakened in the Westerner a kind of interest. He
had even felt a certain friendliness for the man he was robbing.

"Feller," he had asked, "do you come from the Manana country?"

"From Chepstow, Monmouth County, Wales," the dude had replied, in a
shaking voice.

"Where did you get that double-rigged saddle, then?"

"Texas."

The answer had pleased Smith.

"You ain't losin' none on this deal," he had then volunteered. "This horse
that you just traded for is a looker when he is rested, and he can run
like hell. You can go your pile on him. Just burn out that lazy S brand
and run on your own. You can hold him easy, then. I like a feller that
rides a double-rigged saddle in a single-rigged country. S'long, and keep
your hands up till I'm out of range."

"Thank you," the dude had replied feebly.

When Smith had ridden for a half a mile he had turned to look behind him.
The dude was still standing with his hands high above his head.

"I wonder if he's there yet?" The man on horseback grinned.

He reached in the pocket of his mackinaw coat and took out a handful of
sugar.

"You can travel longer on it nor anything," he muttered.

He congratulated himself that he had filled his pocket from the
booze-clerk's sugar-bowl before the mix came. The act was characteristic
of him, as was the forethought which had sent him to the door to pick the
best saddle-horse at the hitching-post, before the lead began to fly.

The man suddenly realized that the mist in the east was denser, and
spreading. He jabbed the spurs into his horse and sent the jaded animal
sliding on its fetlocks down the steep and rocky trail that led into the
dry bed of a creek which in the spring flowed bank high. In the bottom he
pulled his horse to its haunches and leaned from his saddle to look at a
foot-print in a little patch of smooth sand no larger than his two hands.
The print had been made by a moccasined foot, and recently; otherwise the
wind would have wiped it out.

He threw his leg over the cantle of the saddle and stepped softly to the
ground. Dropping the reins, he looked up and down the gulch. Then he drew
his rifle from the scabbard and began to hunt for more tracks. As he
searched, his movements were no longer those of a white man. His
pantomime, stealthy, cautious, was the