hind us."

"I strung them together on a rope," said Bartley.

"How's that?"

"I tied Sneed's horses together, with a rope. Ran it through the
bridles--like stringing fish. Not according to Hoyle, but it seems to
have worked."

Cheyenne shook his head. He did not quite get the significance of
Bartley's statement.

"Any one get hurt?" queried Bartley presently.

"Nope. I spoiled a lamp, and I reckon I hit somebody on the head, in the
dark, comin' through. Seems like I stepped on somethin' soft, out there
back of the barn. It grunted like a human. But I didn't stop to look."

"I had to do it," declared Bartley ambiguously.

"Had to do what?"

"Punch a fellow that wanted to know what I was doing with your horse. I
let him have it twice."

"Then you didn't hit him with your gun?"

"No. I wish I had. I've got a fist like a boiled ham. I can feel it
swell, right now."

"That there mescal is sure pow'ful stuff."

"Thanks!" said Bartley succinctly.

"Got a kick like white lightin'," said Cheyenne.

"And I paid our hotel bill," continued Bartley.

"Well, that was mighty thoughtful. I plumb forgot it."

CHAPTER XVIII

JOE SCOTT

Just before daybreak Cheyenne turned from the road and picked his way
through the scattered brush to a gulch in the western foothills.
Cheyenne's horses seemed to know the place, when they stopped at a
narrow, pole gate across the upper end of the gulch, for on beyond the
gate the horses again stopped of their own accord. Bartley could barely
discern the outlines of a cabin. Cheyenne hallooed.

A muffled answer from the cabin, then a twinkle of light, then the open
doorway framing a gigantic figure.

"That you, Shy?" queried the figure.

"Me and a friend."

"You're kind of early," rumbled the figure as the riders dismounted.

"Shucks! You'd be gettin' up, anyway, right soon. We come early so as
not to delay your breakfast."

In the cabin, Cheyenne and the big man shook hands. Bartley was
introduced. The man was a miner, named Joe Scott.

"Joe, here, is a minin' man--when he ain't runnin' a all-night
lunch-stand," explained Cheyenne. "He can't work his placer when it's
dark, but he sure can work a skillet and a coffee-mill."

"What you been up to?" queried the giant slowly, as he made a fire in
the stove, and set about getting breakfast.

"Up to Clubfoot Sneed's place, to get a couple of hosses that belonged
to me. He was kind of hostile. Followed us down to