chrane to turn
toward the other.

"What of Diaz?"

"Look here, boy. You're a kid, all right, but you ain't that young.
D'you mean to say that you ain't heard of Carlos Diaz?"

It came back to Pierre then, for even into the snow-bound seclusion of
the north country the shadow of the name of Diaz had gone. He could
not remember just what they were, but he seemed to recollect grim tales
through which that name figured.

The other went on: "But if you ain't ever seen him before, look him
over now. They's some says he's faster on the draw than Bob McGurk,
but, of course, that's stretchin' him out a size too much. What's the
matter, kid; you've met McGurk?"

"No, but I'm going to."

"Might even be carried to him, eh--feet first?"

Pierre turned and laid a hand on the shoulder of the other.

"Don't talk like that," he said gently. "I don't like it."

The other reached up to snatch the hand from his shoulder, but he
stayed his arm.

He said after an uncomfortable moment of that silent staring: "Well,
partner, there ain't a hell of a lot to get sore over, is there? You
don't figure you're a mate for McGurk, do you?"

He seemed oddly relieved when the eyes of Pierre moved away from him
and returned to the figure of Carlos Diaz. The Mexican was a perfect
model for a painting of a melodramatic villain. He had waxed and
twirled the end of his black mustache so that it thrust out a little
spur on either side of his long face. His habitual expression was a
scowl; his habitual position was with a cigarette in the fingers of his
left hand, and his right hand resting on his hip.

He sat in a chair directly behind that of Hurley, and Pierre's
new-found acquaintance explained:

"He's the bodyguard for Hurley. Maybe there's some who could down
Hurley in a straight gun fight; maybe there's one or two like McGurk
that could down Diaz--damn his yellow hide--but there ain't no one can
buck the two of 'em. It ain't in reason. So they play the game
together. Hurley works the cards and Diaz covers up the retreat.
Can't beat that, can you?"

Pierre le Rouge slipped his left hand once more Inside his shirt until
the fingers touched the cross.

"Nevertheless, that game has to stop."

"Who'll--say, kid, are you stringin' me, or are you drunk? Look me in
the eye!"

CHAPTER VI

FEAR

Pierre turned and looked calmly upon the other.

And the man whispered in a sort of awe: "Well, I'll be damned!"

"Stand a