uld stay to dinner. An idea was dawning in his brain and
he wanted time to consider it.

A hammock hung in the shade of the cottonwoods, where the breeze blew
cool and refreshing, and he invited Wellesly to stretch himself there
until dinner should be ready. A _vaquero_ took his horse to the stable
and Wellesly threw himself into the hammock and looked up into the
green thickets of the trees with a soul-satisfying sense of relief and
comfort. His revolver in his hip pocket interfered with his ease and
he took it out and laid it on a chair beside the hammock. Then he
pulled his hat over his eyes and in five minutes was asleep.

There was only one _vaquero_ at the ranch house, and he and Billy
Haney and Wellesly were the only human beings within many miles. When
the cow-boy had taken care of Wellesly's horse Haney called him into
the kitchen. The man was tall and sinewy, with a hatchet face, a
thin-lipped mouth and a sharp chin.

"Jim," said Haney, "I've got a scheme in my 'ead about that man, and I
think there'll be lots of money in it. Do you want to come in?"

"What'll it be worth to me?"

"If there's anything in it, there'll be a big pile and we'll go 'alf
and 'alf, and if there isn't--well, of course there's chances to be
took in everything."

"What'll it cost?"

"Some work and some nerve, and then a quick scoot."

"All right, Billy. What's your play?"

When they had finished their planning Haney walked softly toward the
hammock. A gentle snore from beneath the hat told him that Wellesly
was sleeping quietly. He took the revolver from the chair, removed the
cartridges from the six chambers and put it back in the same position.
Then he walked around to the other side of the sleeper and called him
in a hearty tone. Wellesly rose yawning, and they started toward the
house for luncheon.

"You've forgotten your revolver, sir," said Billy.

"So I have! I'm not accustomed to carrying the thing, and if you had
not reminded me I probably wouldn't have thought of it again for a
week. I don't believe it is necessary to carry one, anyway, but my
friend, Colonel Whittaker, insisted that I should do so."

"You never know when you'll need one down in this country," Haney
replied, with a sad shake of the head. "It's pretty tough, I can tell
you. There's that Emerson Mead outfit. They're the worst in the
southwest. You'd need your gun if you should meet any of them."

"Yes, our company has had very serious and very sa