ation. He felt he was getting a smack at the sergeant.

"Then Peter's a fool."

"Guess you're wrong thar. Peter's the slickest 'bad man' I've heerd tell
of."

"We'll see. Now what about the keg? Of course the cattle have crossed
it. A secret path?"

"Yup."

"Who knows the secret of it?"

"Peter."

"Only?"

The Breed hesitated. His furtive eyes shifted from one face to the other
of his auditors. Then encountering the fixed stare of both men he
glanced away towards the window. He seemed uncomfortable under the mute
inquiry. Then he went on doubtfully.

"I guess thar's others. It's an old secret among the Breeds. An' I've
heerd tell as some whites knows it."

A swift exchange of meaning glances passed between the two listeners.

"Who?"

"Can't say."

"Won't--you mean?"

"No, boss. Ef I knew it 'ud pay me well to tell. Guess I don't know.
I've tried to find out."

"Now look you. Retief has always been supposed to have been drowned in
the keg. Where's he been all the time?"

The half-breed grinned. Then his face became suddenly serious. He began
to think the cross-questioning was becoming too hot He decided to draw
on his imagination.

"Peter was no more drowned than I was. He tricked you--us all--into that
belief. Gee!--but he's slick. Peter went to Montana. When the States got
too sultry fur 'im he jest came right back hyar. He's been at the camp
fur two weeks an' more."

Horrocks was silent after this. Then he turned to Lablache.

"Anything you'd like to ask him?"

The money-lender shook his head and Horrocks turned back to his man.

"I guess that's all. Here's your fifty," he went on, taking a roll of
bills from his pocket and counting out the coveted greenbacks. "See and
don't get mad drunk and get to shooting. Off you go. If you learn
anything more I'm ready to pay for it."

Gautier took the bills and hastily crammed them into his pocket as if he
feared he might be called upon to return them. Then he made for the
door. He hesitated before he passed out.

"Say, sergeant, you ain't goin' fur to try an' take 'im at the pusky?"
he asked, with an appearance of anxiety.

"That's my business. Why?"

The Breed shrugged.

"Ye'll feed the coyotes, sure as--kingdom come. Say they'll jest flay
the pelt off yer."

"Git!"

The rascal "got" without further delay or evil prophecy. He knew
Horrocks.

When the door closed, and the officer had assured himself of the man's
departure, he turned to