t like they had a rope on you--"

"You think of that Malvey?"

"Well, I ain't forgittin' the way he--"

Boca's eyes flashed. "Yes! But here it is different. The Spider, he
is my friend. It is that when I have rested and eaten he will ask me
to sing. Manuelo will play the guitar. I shall sing and laugh, for I
am no longer tired. I am happy. Perhaps I shall sing the song of 'The
Outlaw,' and for you."

"I'll be listenin'--every minute, Boca. Mebby if I ain't jest
_lookin'_ at you--it'll be because--"

"Si! Even like the caballero of whom I shall sing." And Boca hummed a
tune, gazing at Pete with unreadable eyes, half-smiling, half-sad. How
young, smooth-cheeked, and boyish he was, as he glanced up and returned
her smile. Yet how quickly his face changed as he turned his head
toward the doorway, ever alert for a possible surprise. Boca pushed
back her chair. "The guitar," she called, nodding to The Spider.

Manuelo brought the guitar, tuned it, and sat back in the corner of the
patio. The men in the saloon rose and shuffled to where Boca stood,
seating themselves roundabout in various attitudes of expectancy.
Pete, who had risen, recalled The Spider's terse warning, and stepped
over to the patio doorway. Manuelo had just swept the silver strings
in a sounding prelude, when The Spider, behind the bar, gestured to
Pete.

"No, it ain't Malvey," said The Spider, as Pete answered his abrupt
summons. "Here, take a drink while I talk. Keep your eye on the
front. Don't move your hands off the bar, for there's three men out
there, afoot, just beyond the hitching-rail. There was five, a minute
ago. I figure two of 'em have gone round to the back. Go ahead--drink
a little, and set your glass down, natural. I'm joshin' with you,
see!"--and The Spider grinned hideously. "Smile! Don't make a break
for the patio. The boys out there wouldn't understand, and Boca might
get hurt. She's goin' to sing. You turn slow, and listen. When your
back's turned, those hombres out there will step in." The Spider
laughed, as though at something Pete had said. "You're mighty
surprised to see 'em and you start to talk. Leave the rest to me."

Pete nodded and lifted his glass. From the patio came the sound of
Boca's voice and the soft strumming of the guitar. Pete heard but
hardly realized the significance of the first line or two of the
song--and then:

"A rider stood at the lamplit bar,
tugging the k