is way to keep clear of the
regular trail from the Olla to Sanborn, and had lost more time than he
realized. Brevoort, on the contrary, had taken the regular trail,
which joined the main wagon-road.

Pete and Brevoort rode easily, as the local made the Sanborn stop at
six in the morning. Moreover, they did not care to spend any great
length of time in Sanborn. They had planned to leave their horses at
the livery stable--to be called for later.

At first they talked of the raid, the probable fate of Ortez and his
men, and of Arguilla's flight. And from that they came to considering
their own plans which, if successful, would find them in El Paso with
several thousand dollars which belonged in reality to Arguilla's
backers. There was an unvoiced but evident understanding between them
that they would keep together so long as safety permitted. Pete had
made up his mind to look for work on some southern ranch--and have done
with the high trails of outlawry. Brevoort, falling into his mood, as
much because he liked Pete as anything else, had decided to "throw in"
with him. Had Pete suggested robbing a bank, or holding up a train,
the big, easy-going Texan would have fallen in with the suggestion
quite as readily, not because Pete had any special influence over him,
but purely because Pete's sprightliness amused and interested him.
Moreover, Pete was a partner that could be depended upon in fair
weather or foul.

Their plan once made, they became silent, each busy with his own more
intimate thoughts: Brevoort wondering what Pete would say if he were to
suggest dividing the money and making for the coast and Alaska--and
Pete endeavoring to reconcile himself to the idea that The Spider was
actually Boca's father. For Pete had been thinking of Boca, even while
he had been talking with Brevoort. It seemed that he always thought of
her just before some hidden danger threatened. He had been thinking of
her--even aside from her presence in the patio--that night when the
posse had entered Showdown. He had thought of her while riding to the
Ortez rancho--and now he was thinking of her again . . . He raised his
head and glanced around. The starlit desert was as soundless as the
very sky itself. The soft creak of the saddles, the breathing of the
horses, the sand-muffled sound of their feet . . . Directly ahead
loomed a wall of darkness. Pete touched Brevoort's arm and gestured
toward it.

"They call it the Devil's