ed him--not even The Spider, though he could have
sent Malvey to the penitentiary on any one of several counts.

Malvey had no subtlety. He simply knew the game and possessed a
tremendous amount of nerve. Like most red-headed men, he rode
rough-shod and aggressively to his goal. He "bulled" his way through,
when more capable men of equal nerve failed.

Riding beside him across the southern desert, Young Pete could not help
noticing Malvey's hands--huge-knuckled and freckled--and Pete surmised
correctly that this man was not quick with a gun. Pete also noticed
that Malvey "roughed" his horse unnecessarily; that he was a good
rider, but a poor horseman. Pete wondered that desert life had not
taught Malvey to take better care of his horse.

As yet Pete knew nothing of their destination--nor did he care. It was
good to be out in the open, again with a good horse under him. The
atmosphere of The Spider's saloon had been too tense for comfort. Pete
simply wanted to vacate Showdown until such time as he might return
safely. He had no plan--but he did believe that Showdown would know
him again. He could not say why. And it was significant of Young
Pete's descent to the lower plane that he should consider Showdown safe
at any time.

Pete was in reality never more unsafe than at the present time. While
space and a swift pony between his knees argued of bodily freedom, he
felt uneasy. Perhaps because of Malvey's occasional covert glance at
Blue Smoke--for Pete saw much that he did not appear to see. Pete
became cautious forthwith, studying the lay of the land. It was a bad
country to travel, being so alike in its general aspect of butte and
arroyo, sand and cacti, that there was little to lay hold upon as a
landmark. A faint line of hills edged the far southern horizon and
there were distant hills to the east and west. They journeyed across
an immense basin, sun-smitten, desolate, unpromising.

"Just plain hell," said Malvey as though reading Pete's thought.

"You act like you was to home all right," laughed Pete.

Malvey glanced quickly at his companion, alive to an implied insult,
but he saw only a young, smooth-cheeked rider in whose dark eyes shone
neither animosity nor friendliness. They jogged on, neither speaking
for many miles. When Malvey did speak, his manner was the least bit
patronizing. He could not quite understand Pete, yet The Spider had
seemed to understand him. As Pete had said nothing