, to make
his generosity worth while, he dispatched Flat Nose to the corral, and
the foreman rode back leading the pony that had won the half-mile
dash. Sinclair cinched the prize saddle on the colt with his own
hands, led the beast to Du Sang, placed the bridle in his hand, and
bowed. "From a jay to a marksman," he said, saluting.

Du Sang, greatly embarrassed by the affair--he had curious pink
eyes--blinked and got away to the stables. When Rebstock joined him
the Williams Cache party were saddling to go home. Du Sang made no
reference to his gift horse and saddle, but spoke of the man that had
held the target aces. "He must be a sucker!" declared Du Sang, with an
oath. "I wouldn't do that for any man on top of ground. Who is he?"

"That man?" wheezed Rebstock. "Never have no dealings with him. He
plays 'most any kind of a game. He's always ready to play, and holds
aces most of the time. Don't you remember my telling about the man
that got Chuck Williams and hauled him out of the Cache on a
buckboard? That's the man. Here, he give me this for you; it's your
card." Rebstock handed Du Sang the target ace of clubs. "Why didn't
you thank Murray Sinclair, you mule?"

Du Sang, whose eyelashes were white, blinked at the hole through the
card, and looked around as he rode back across the field for the man
that had held it; but Whispering Smith had disappeared.

He was at that moment walking past the barbecue pit with George
McCloud. "Rebstock talks a great deal about your shooting, Gordon,"
said McCloud to his companion.

"He and I once had a little private match of our own. It was on the
Peace River, over a bunch of steers. Since then we have got along very
well, though he has an exaggerated opinion of my ability. Rebstock's
worst failing is his eyesight. It bothers him in seeing brands. He's
liable to brand a critter half a dozen times. That albino, Du Sang, is
a queer duck. Sinclair gave him a fine horse. There they go." The
Cache riders were running their horses and whooping across the creek.
"What a hand a State's prison warden at Fort City could draw out of
that crowd, George!" continued McCloud's companion. "If the right man
should get busy with that bunch of horses Sinclair has got together,
and organize those up-country fellows for mischief, wouldn't it make
things hum on the mountain division for a while?"

McCloud did not meet the host, Lance Dunning, that day, nor since the
day of the barbecue had Du Sang o