ng on those plans myself," the other
answered promptly, and added, as he looked out into the night: "By that
notch in the hills, we'd ought to be close to the tank now. She's slowing
up. I reckon we can slip out to the vestibule, and get off at the far side
of the track without being noticed much."

This they found easy enough. Five minutes later number seven was steaming
away into the distant desert. Flatray gave a sharp, shrill whistle; and
from behind some sand dunes emerged two men and four horses.

"Anything new?" asked the sheriff as they came nearer.

"Not a thing, cap," answered one of them.

"Boys, shake hands with the famous Lieutenant O'Connor," said Flatray,
with a sneer hid by the darkness. "Lieutenant, let me make you acquainted
with Jeff Jackson and Buck Lane."

"Much obliged to meet you," grinned Buck as he shook hands.

They mounted and rode toward the notch in the hills that had been pointed
out to the ranger. The moon was up; and a cold, silvery light flooded the
plain. Seen in this setting, the great, painted desert held more of
mystery, of beauty, and less of the dead monotony that glared endlessly
from arid, barren reaches. The sky of stars stretched infinitely far, and
added to the effect of magnitude.

The miles slipped behind them as they moved forward, hour after hour,
their horses holding to the running walk that is the peculiar gait of the
cow country. They rode in silence, with the loose seat and straight back
of the vaquero. Except the ranger, all were dressed for riding--Flatray in
corduroys and half-knee laced boots; his men in overalls, chaps, flannel
shirts, and the broad-brimmed sombrero of the Southwest. All four were
young men; but there was an odd difference in the expressions of their
faces.

Jackson and Lane had the hard-lined faces, with something grim and stony
in them, of men who ride far and hard with their lives in their hands. The
others were of a higher type. Flatray's dark eyes were keen, bold, and
restless. One might have guessed him a man of temperament, capable of any
extremes of conduct--often the victim of his own ungovernable whims and
passions. Just as he looked a picture of all the passions of youth run to
seed, so the ranger seemed to show them in flower. There was something
fine and strong and gallant in his debonair manner. His warm smile went
out to a world that pleased him mightily.

They rode steadily, untired and untiring. The light of dawn began to