he called in the door.

Voices, heavy footsteps, the clinking of spurs, preceded the appearance
of the three strangers, followed by Jack Belllounds. The foremost was a
tall man in black, sandy-haired and freckled, with clear gray eyes, and
a drooping mustache that did not hide stern lips and rugged chin. He
wore a silver star on his vest, packed a gun in a greasy holster worn
low down on his right side, and under his left arm he carried a package.

It suited Wade, then, to step forward; and if he expected surprise and
pleasure to break across the sheriff's stern face he certainly had not
reckoned in vain.

"Wal, I'm a son-of-a-gun!" ejaculated Burley, bending low, with quick
movement, to peer at Wade.

"Howdy, Jim. How's tricks?" said Wade, extending his hand, and the smile
that came so seldom illumined his sallow face.

"Hell-Bent Wade, as I'm a born sinner!" shouted the sheriff, and his
hand leaped out to grasp Wade's and grip it and wring it. His face
worked. "My Gawd! I'm glad to see you, old-timer! Wal, you haven't
changed at all!... Ten years! How time flies! An' it's shore you?"

"Same, Jim, an' powerful glad to meet you," replied Wade.

"Shake hands with Bridges an' Lindsay," said Burley, indicating his two
comrades. "Stockmen from Grand Lake.... Boys, you've heerd me talk about
him. Wade an' I was both in the old fight at Blair's ranch on the
Gunnison. An' I've shore reason to recollect him!... Wade, what're you
doin' up in these diggin's?"

"Drifted over last fall, Jim, an' have been huntin' varmints for
Belllounds," replied Wade. "Cleaned the range up fair to middlin'. An'
since I quit Belllounds I've been hangin' round with my young pard here,
Wils Moore, an' interestin' myself in lookin' up cattle tracks."

Burley's back was toward Belllounds and his son, so it was impossible
for them to see the sudden little curious light that gleamed in his eyes
as he looked hard at Wade, and then at Moore.

"Wils Moore. How d'ye do? I reckon I remember you, though I don't ride
up this way much of late years."

The cowboy returned the greeting civilly enough, but with brevity.

Belllounds cleared his throat and stepped forward. His manner showed he
had a distasteful business at hand.

"Moore, I sent for you on a serious matter, I'm sorry to say."

"Well, here I am. What is it?" returned the cowboy, with clear, hazel
eyes, full of fire, steady on the old rancher's.

"Jack, you know, is foreman of White Sli