olling his bed when Bartley called to
him, and he found Bartley pointing at a pair of dice on a flat rock
beside the fire.

Cheyenne stooped and picked up the dice. "Was you rattlin' the bones to
see if you could beat yourself?"

"I found them here. Are they yours?"

"Nope. And they weren't here last evenin'."

Cheyenne turned and strode out to the road while Bartley made breakfast.
Cheyenne was gone a long time, examining the tracks of horses. When he
returned he squatted down and ate.

Presently he rose. "First off, I thought they might 'a' been some stray
Apaches or Cholas. But they don't pack dice. And the bunch that rode by
last night was ridin' shod bosses."

Bartley turned slowly toward his companion. "Panhandle?" he queried.

"And these here dice? Looks like it. It's like him to leave them dice
for us to play with while he trails south with our stack. I reckon it
was that Dobe hoss he was after. But he must 'a' knowed who was campin'
around here. You see, when Wishful kind of hinted to Panhandle to leave
town, Panhandle figured that meant to stay out of Antelope quite a
spell. First off he steals some hosses. Next thing, he'll sell 'em or
trade 'em, down south of here. He'll travel nights, mostly."

"I can't see why he should especially pick us out as his victims," said
Bartley.

"I don't say he did. But it would make no difference to him. He'd steal
any man's stock. Only, I figure some of his friends must 'a' told him
about you--that seen you ridin' down this way. He would know our camp
would be somewhere near this water-hole. What kind of matches you got
with you?"

"Why--this kind." And Bartley produced a few blue-top matches.

"This here is a old-timer sulphur match, cut square. It was right here,
by the rock. Somebody lit a match and laid them dice there--sixes up. No
reg'lar hoss-thief would take that much trouble to advertise himself.
Panhandle done it--and he wanted me to know he done it."

"You've had trouble with him before, haven't you?"

"Yes--and no man can say I ever trailed him. But I never stepped out of
his way."

"Then that crap game in Antelope meant more than an ordinary crap game?"
said Bartley.

"He had his chance," stated Cheyenne.

"Well, we're in a fix," asserted Bartley.

"Yes; we're afoot. But we'll make it. And right here I'm tellin' you
that I aim to shoot a game of craps with Panhandle, usin' these here
dice, that'll be fast and won't last long."

"How about