timate of the
timber.

As has been said, they found the Basin now quite deserted. The trail to
Sycamore Flats had apparently not been travelled since George Pollock
had ridden down it to give himself up to authority. Their preliminary
labours finished, the two Forest officers packed, and were on the very
point of turning up the steep mountain side toward the lookout, when two
horsemen rode over the flat rock.

Naturally Bob and Ware drew up, after the mountain custom, to exchange
greetings. As the others drew nearer, Bob recognized in one the slanting
eyeglasses, the close-lipped, gray moustache and the keen, cold features
of Oldham. Ware nodded at the other man, who returned his salutation as
curtly.

"You're off your beat, Mr. Oldham," observed Bob.

"I'm after a deer," replied Oldham. "You are a little off your own beat,
aren't you?"

"My beat is everywhere," replied Bob carelessly.

"What devilment you up to now, Sal?" Ware was asking of the other man,
a tall, loose-jointed, freckle-faced and red-haired individual with an
evil red eye.

"I'm earnin' my salary; and I misdoubt you ain't," sneered the
individual thus addressed.

"As what; gun man?" demanded Ware calmly.

"You may find that out sometime."

"I'm not as easy as young Franklin was," said Ware, dropping his hand
carelessly to his side. "Don't make any mistakes when you get around to
your demonstration."

The man said nothing, but grinned, showing tobacco-stained, irregular
teeth beneath his straggling, red moustache.

After a moment's further conversation the little groups separated. Bob
rode on up the trail. Ware followed for perhaps ten feet, or until out
of sight behind the screen of willows that bordered the stream. Then,
without drawing rein, he dropped from his saddle. The horse, urged by a
gentle slap on the rump, followed in the narrow trail after Bob and the
pack animal. Ware slipped quietly through the willows until he had
gained a point commanding the other trail. Oldham and his companion were
riding peacefully. Satisfied, Ware returned, climbed rapidly until he
had caught up with his horse, and resumed his saddle. Bob had only that
moment noticed his absence.

"Look here, Bob," said Ware, "that fellow with Mr. Oldham is a man
called Saleratus Bill. He's a hard citizen, a gun man, and brags of
eleven killin's in his time. Mr. Oldham or no one else couldn't pick up
a worse citizen to go deer hunting with. When you track up with h