would be between him and the door.

"Guess we'll have a drink--and talk later," said Houck. The Spider
glanced up from his card-game, and nodded casually.

The sound of shuffling feet, and the Mexican knew that the strangers
were facing the bar. He softly holstered his gun. While he could not
understand English, he knew by the tone of the conversation that these
men were not the enemies of his weazened master.

"Seen anything of a kind of dark-complected young fella wearin' a black
Stetson and ridin' a blue roan?" queried Houck.

"Where was he from?" countered The Spider.

"The Concho, and ridin' a hoss with the Concho brand."

"Wanted bad?"

"Yes--a whole lot. He shot Steve Gary yesterday."

"Gary of the T-Bar-T?"

"The same--and a friend of mine," interpolated the cowboy Simpson.

"Huh! You say he's young--just a kid?"

"Yes. But a dam' tough kid."

"Pete Annersley, eh? Not the Young Pete that was mixed up in that raid
a few years ago?"

"The same."

"No--I didn't see anything of him," said The Spider.

"We trailed him down this way."

The Spider nodded.

"And we mean to keep right on ridin'--till we find him," blurted
Simpson.

Houck realized that The Spider knew more than he cared to tell.
Simpson had blundered in stating their future plans, Houck tried to
cover the blunder. "We like to get some chuck--enough to carry us back
to the ranch."

"I'm short on chuck," said The Spider. "If you men were
deputies--sworn in regular--why, I'd have to give it to you."

Simpson was inclined to argue, but Houck stopped him.

"Guess we can make it all right," he said easily. "Come on, boys!"

Houck, wiser than his companions, realized the uselessness of searching
farther, a fact obvious even to the hot-headed Simpson when at the edge
of the town they tried to buy provisions from a Mexican and were met
with a shrug and a reiterated "No sabe."

"And that just about settles it," said Houck as he reined his pony
round and faced north.

CHAPTER XX

BULL MALVEY

Malvey, when not operating a machine gun for Mexican bandits, was
usually busy evading a posse on the American side of the border.
Needless to say, he knew the country well--and the country knew him
only too well. He had friends--of a kind--and he had enemies of every
description and color from the swart, black-eyed Cholas of Sonora to
the ruddy, blue-eyed Rangers of Texas. He trusted no man--and no man
who knew him trust