hells."

When Pete returned, Blue Smoke was in the corral and his own saddle was
on a big bay that looked like a splendid running-mate for Brevoort's
mount. Pete busied himself slinging the rifle, curious as to what his
new venture would or could be, yet too proud to show that he was
interested.

Brevoort, hitching up his belt, swung to his horse. Without hesitation
Pete followed. Well-fed, eager and spirited, the horses lunged out
into the open and settled into a long, swinging stride--a gait that was
new to Pete, accustomed as he was to the shorter, quick action of the
cow-pony.

They rode south, across the sunlit expanse of emptiness between the
hacienda and the line. A few hundred yards beyond the fence, Brevoort
reined in. "Mexico," he said, gesturing round about. "Our job is to
ride to the Ortez rancho and get that outfit movin' up this way."

"Goin' to turn the cattle over to 'em?" queried Pete.

"Yes--and that quick they won't know they got 'em. It's a big deal, if
she goes through. If she don't, it's like to be the finish of the
Olla."

"Meanin' if the T-Bar-T and the Concho gits busy, there's like to be
some smoke blowin' down this way?"

"The same. Recollect what I was tellin' you this mornin'."

"About Brent sendin' a man into a fight?"

"Yes. But I wasn't figurin' on provin' it to you so quick," drawled
the Texan. "Hold your horse down to a walk. We'll save speed for a
spell. No, I wasn't figurin' on this. You see, when I hired out to
Brent, I knew what I was doin'--so I told him I'd jest earn my pay on
the white side of the border--but no Mexico for mine. That was the
understandin'. Now he goes to work and sends you and me down into this
here country on a job which is only fit for a Greaser. I'm goin' to
see it through, but I done made my last ride for the Olla."

"Brent was sayin' he was short of hands," suggested Pete.

"Which is correct. But there's that Jose who knows every foot of the
dry-spot clean to the Ortez--and he knows every hoss-thief in this
sun-blasted country. Does he send Jose? No. He sends two white men,
tellin' me that it is too big a deal to trust the Mexican with."

"And a fine chance of gittin' bumped off by a lousy bunch of Cholas
callin' themselves soldiers, eh?"

"You said it."

"Well, we got good hosses, anyway. And I sabe the Mexican talk."

"Guess that's why Brent sent you along. He knows I talk mighty little
Mexican." And Brevoort gaze