e big lie through and
through--what they call bad egg--no good!"

Already half a dozen men were charging from the house. Jumbo pinned
Wadley's arms by the elbows to prevent him from drawing a revolver.

"What's the rumpus?" he demanded.

"The fellow tried to knife me in the back," explained Rutherford.
"Jealous, because I took his girl."

"So?" grunted Wilkins. "Well, you'd better light a shuck out o' here.
You came on yore own invite. You can go on mine."

"Why should I go? I'll see you at Tombstone first."

"Why?" Jumbo's voice was no longer amiable and ingratiating. "Because
you gave Tony a raw deal, an' he's got friends here. Have _you_?"

Wadley looked round and saw here and there Mexican faces filled with
sullen resentment. It came to him swiftly that this was no place for his
father's son to linger.

"I don't push my society on any one," he said haughtily. "If I ain't
welcome, I'll go. But I serve notice right here that any one who tries
to pull a knife on me will get cold lead next time."

Jumbo, with his arm tucked under that of Wadley, led the way to the
house. He untied the rein of Rutherford's horse and handed it to the
son of his boss.

"_Vamos!_" he said.

The young man pulled himself to the saddle. "You're a hell of a friend,"
he snarled.

"Who said anything about bein' a friend? I'm particular about when I use
that word," replied Wilkins evenly, with hard eyes.

Wadley's quirt burned the flank of the cow-pony and it leaped for the
road.

When five minutes later some one inquired for Tony he too had
disappeared.

CHAPTER VIII

RUTHERFORD MAKES A MISTAKE

Rutherford Wadley struck across country toward the rim-rock. Anger
burned high in him, and like the bully he was he took it out of his good
horse by roweling its sides savagely. He plunged into the curly
mesquite, driving forward straight as an arrow. Behind him in the
darkness followed a shadow, sinister and silent, out of sight, but
within sound of the horse's footfall. It stopped when Wadley stopped;
when he moved, it moved.

Midnight found young Wadley still moving straight forward, the moon on
his left. Painted Rock was ten miles to the west. Except for the stage
station there, and the settlement he had left, there was no other
habitation for fifty miles. It was a wilderness of silence.

Yet in that waste of empty space Rutherford "jumped up" a camper. The
man was a trader, carrying honey and pecans to Fort Worth. He