Dave discovered that his argument or his hopes had for
the moment convinced him. "Now the question is, what's to be done?"

"Yes," she admitted, and the tremor of the lips told him that she
depended upon him to work out the problem. His heart swelled with glad
pride at the thought.

"That man who jus' passed is my friend," he told her. "He's trailin' that
duck Shorty. Like as not we'll find out what's stirrin'."

"I'll go with you," the girl said, vivid lips parted in anticipation.

"No, you go home. This is a man's job. Soon as I find out anything I'll
let you know."

"You'll come, no matter what time o' night it is," she pleaded.

"Yes," he promised.

Her firm little hand rested a moment in his brown palm. "I'm depending on
you," she murmured in a whisper lifted to a low wail by a stress of
emotion.

CHAPTER VI

BY WAY OF A WINDOW

The trail of rice led down Mission Street, turned at Junipero, crossed
into an alley, and trickled along a dusty road to the outskirts of the
frontier town.

The responsibility Joyce had put upon him uplifted Dave. He had followed
the horse-race gamblers to town on a purely selfish undertaking. But he
had been caught in a cross-current of fate and was being swept into
dangerous waters for the sake of another.

Doble and Miller were small fish in the swirl of this more desperate
venture. He knew Brad Steelman by sight and by reputation. The man's
coffee-brown, hatchet face, his restless, black eyes, the high, narrow
shoulders, the slope of nose and chin, combined somehow to give him the
look of a wily and predacious wolf. The boy had never met any one who so
impressed him with a sense of ruthless rapacity. He was audacious and
deadly in attack, but always he covered his tracks cunningly. Suspected
of many crimes, he had been proved guilty of none. It was a safe bet that
now he had a line of retreat worked out in case his plans went awry.

A soft, low whistle stayed his feet. From behind a greasewood bush Bob
rose and beckoned him. Dave tiptoed to him. Both of them crouched behind
cover while they whispered.

"The 'dobe house over to the right," said Bob. "I been up and tried to
look in, but they got curtains drawn. I would've like to 've seen how
many gents are present. Nothin' doin'. It's a strictly private party."

Dave told him what he had learned from the daughter of Emerson Crawford.

"Might make a gather of boys and raid the joint," suggested Hart.

"Bad me