it was a favor
bestowed upon the cook.

"Snake, hadn't I ought to take a bite of grub over to the gurl?" asked
Wilson.

"Do you hev to ask me thet?" snapped Anson. "She's gotta be fed, if we
hev to stuff it down her throat."

"Wal, I ain't stuck on the job," replied Wilson. "But I'll tackle it,
seein' you-all got cold feet."

With plate and cup be reluctantly approached the little lean-to, and,
kneeling, he put his head inside. The girl, quick-eyed and alert, had
evidently seen him coming. At any rate, she greeted him with a cautious
smile.

"Jim, was I pretty good?" she whispered.

"Miss, you was shore the finest aktress I ever seen," he responded, in a
low voice. "But you dam near overdid it. I'm goin' to tell Anson you're
sick now--poisoned or somethin' awful. Then we'll wait till night. Dale
shore will help us out."

"Oh, I'm on fire to get away," she exclaimed. "Jim Wilson, I'll never
forget you as long as I live!"

He seemed greatly embarrassed.

"Wal--miss--I--I'll do my best licks. But I ain't gamblin' none on
results. Be patient. Keep your nerve. Don't get scared. I reckon between
me an' Dale you'll git away from heah."

Withdrawing his head, he got up and returned to the camp-fire, where
Anson was waiting curiously.

"I left the grub. But she didn't touch it. Seems sort of sick to me,
like she was poisoned."

"Jim, didn't I hear you talkin'?" asked Anson.

"Shore. I was coaxin' her. Reckon she ain't so ranty as she was. But she
shore is doubled-up, an' sickish."

"Wuss an' wuss all the time," said Anson, between his teeth. "An'
where's Burt? Hyar it's noon an' he left early. He never was no
woodsman. He's got lost."

"Either thet or he's run into somethin'," replied Wilson, thoughtfully.

Anson doubled a huge fist and cursed deep under his breath--the reaction
of a man whose accomplices and partners and tools, whose luck, whose
faith in himself had failed him. He flung himself down under a tree, and
after a while, when his rigidity relaxed, he probably fell asleep. Moze
and Shady kept at their game. Wilson paced to and fro, sat down, and
then got up to bunch the horses again, walked around the dell and back
to camp. The afternoon hours were long. And they were waiting hours. The
act of waiting appeared on the surface of all these outlaws did.

At sunset the golden gloom of the glen changed to a vague, thick
twilight. Anson rolled over, yawned, and sat up. As he glanced around,
evidently