x I said you were to go. He'll give you
the directions. Only you'll have to hurry."

With a murmured word of thanks, Buck snatched up his hat and hastened into
the living-room. As he passed the big table he was aware of a door at the
farther end opening, but he did not turn his head. An instant later, as he
was in the act of springing off the porch, he heard a woman's voice behind
him, soft, low, and a little shaken.

"What is it, Mary? What's happened? You don't mean to tell me that--that
another man's been shot."

Buck's eyes widened, but he did not pause. "That's the aunt, I reckon," he
muttered, as he sped down the slope. His lips straightened. "Another! Holy
cats! What the devil am I up against, anyhow? A murder syndicate?"

CHAPTER VIII

THE HOODOO OUTFIT

Pop Daggett hesitated and glanced uneasily toward the door.

"I warned yuh, didn't I, the Shoe-Bar was a hoodoo outfit?" he evaded.

Stratton shook some tobacco into a cigarette-paper and jerked the
draw-string with his teeth.

"Sure you did, but that's not the question," he persisted. "I asked you if
any other punchers had met up with--accidents out there lately."

The old man continued to cock an eye on the store entrance.

"Since yuh gotta know," he answered in a lowered tone, "there was two.
About three months ago Jed Terry was scoutin' around back in the
mountains, Lord knows what fur, an' fell into a canyon an' broke his skull.
Four or five weeks arter that Sam Bennett was plugged through the chest
down below Las Vegas."

"Did Lynch happen to be with either of them?"

"No, sir-ee," returned Daggett hastily. "An' don't yuh go blattin' around
I told yuh anythin' about it. I ain't one to gossip about my neighbors,
more especially Tex Lynch. Them two deaths-- Say, Tex ain't in town with
yuh, is he?"

"Not that I know of. He certainly didn't come with me."

"Huh! Wal, yuh never c'n tell with him. As I was sayin', Terry's death was
pernounced a accident, an' they allowed Bennett was plugged by one of them
greaser rustlers I hear tell of. I ain't sayin' nothing to the contrary.
All I'm tellin' yuh is the Shoe-Bar ain't a healthy outfit to work for,
an' this business about Rick Bemis proves it. I wouldn't sign on with 'em,
not for a hundred a month."

Buck thrust the cigarette between his lips and felt for a match. "Still
I've got a mind to stick it out a while," he drawled. "Accidents come in
threes, they say, so there won't likely be a