n fire, at least that part of it which interested the cattlemen of
the Malapi district. The blaze had started back of Bear Canon and had
been swept by the wind across to Cattle and San Jacinto. The oil field
adjacent had been licked up and every reservoir and sump was in flames.
The whole range would probably be wiped out before the fire spent itself
for lack of fuel. Crawford had posted a rider to town calling for more
man power to build trails and wield flails. This was the sum of the news.
It was not strictly accurate, but it served to rouse Shorty at once.

He rose and touched the Mexican on the arm. "Where you say that fire
started, Pedro?"

"Bear Canon, senor."

"And it's crossed San Jacinto?"

"Like wildfire." The slim vaquero made a gesture all-inclusive. "It runs,
senor, like a frightened jackrabbit. Nothing will stop it--nothing. It
iss sent by heaven for a punishment."

"Hmp!" Shorty grunted.

The rustler fell into a somber silence. He drank no more. The dark-lashed
eyes of the Mexican girls slanted his way in vain. He stared sullenly at
the table in front of him. A problem had pushed itself into his
consciousness, one he could not brush aside or ignore.

If the fire had started back of Bear Canon, what agency had set it going?
He and Doble had camped last night at that very spot. If there had been a
fire there during the night he must have known it. Then when had the fire
started? And how? They had seen the faint smoke of it as they rode away,
the filmy smoke of a young fire not yet under much headway. Was it
reasonable to suppose that some one else had been camping close to them?
This was possible, but not likely. For they would probably have seen
signs of the other evening camp-fire.

Eliminating this possibility, there remained--Dug Doble. Had Dug fired
the brush while his companion was saddling for the start? The more Shorty
considered this possibility, the greater force it acquired in his mind.
Dug's hatred of Crawford, Hart, and especially Sanders would be satiated
in part at least if he could wipe their oil bonanza from the map. The
wind had been right. Doble was no fool. He knew that if the fire ran wild
in the chaparral only a miracle could save the Jackpot reservoirs and
plant from destruction.

Other evidence accumulated. Cryptic remarks of Doble made during the
day. His anxiety to see Steelman immediately. A certain manner of
ill-repressed triumph whenever he mentioned Sanders or Crawfo