that was not the reason why Dud declined the invitation.
He had not come to get into trouble. He meant to keep out of it if he
could.

"Last fellow that licked me hauled me down off'n my bronc, Mr. Houck,"
Dud answered, laughing. "No, sir. We got to turn down that invite to a
whalin'. The boss gave us our orders straight. No trouble a-tall. I
expect if it was our own say-so we might accommodate you. But not the way
things are."

"No guts, either of you. Ain't two to one good enough?" jeered Houck
angrily.

"Not good enough right now. Maybe some other time, Mr. Houck," Dud
replied, his temper unruffled.

"You want it to be twelve to one, like it was last time, eh?"

"Harshaw will be lookin' for us, so we'll be sayin' good-evenin'," the
rider for the Slash Lazy D said quietly.

He turned his horse to go, as did his companion. Houck cursed them both
bitterly. While they rode into the gloom Bob's heart lifted to his
throat. Goosequills ran up and down his spine. Would one of his enemies
shoot him in the back? He could hardly keep from swinging his head to
make sure they were not aiming at him. He wanted to touch his mount with
a spur to quicken the pace.

But Dud, riding by his side, held his bronco to the slow even road gait
of the traveler who has many miles to cover. Apparently he had forgotten
the existence of the furious, bitter men who were watching their exit
from the scene. Bob set his teeth and jogged along beside him.

Not till they were over the hill did either of them speak.

"Wow!" grunted Dud as he wiped the sweat from his face. "I'm sure enough
glad to have that job done with. My back aches right between the shoulder
blades where a bullet might 'a' hit it."

Bob relaxed in the saddle. He felt suddenly faint. Even now he found
himself looking round apprehensively to make sure that a man carrying a
rifle was not silhouetted on the hilltop against the sky-line.

CHAPTER XXVII

PARTNERS IN PERIL

Into the office of Blister Haines, J. P., a young man walked. He was a
berry-brown youth, in the trappings of the range-rider, a little thin and
stringy, perhaps, but well-poised and light-stepping.

With one swift glance the fat man swept his visitor from head to foot and
liked what he saw. The lean face was tanned, the jaw firm, the eye direct
and steady. There was no need to tell this man to snap up his head. Eight
months astride a saddle in the sun and wind had wrought a change in
Robert Di