ionally he could
discern somebody moving about, though there were not enough signs of
activity to show the presence of many people. All day the wash hung
drying on the line. Dusk came, the blankets still signaling that all was
well.

Bellamy led his men forward under cover, following the wooded ridge above
the Cache so long as there was light enough by which they might be
observed from the valley. With the growing darkness he began the descent
into the bowl just behind the corral. A light shone in the larger cabin;
and Bellamy knew that, unless Rosario were playing him false, the men
would be at supper there. He left his men lying down behind the corral,
while he crept forward to the window from which the light was coming.

In the room were two men and the Mexican woman. The men, with elbows far
apart, and knives and forks very busy, were giving strict attention to the
business in hand. Rosario waited upon them, but with ear and eye guiltily
alert to catch the least sound. The mine owner could even overhear
fragments of the talk.

"Ought to get back by midnight, don't you reckon? Pass the cow and the
sugar, Buck. Keep a-coming with that coffee, Rosario. I ain't a mite
afraid but what MacQueen will pull it off all right, you bet."

"Sure, he will. Give that molasses a shove, Tom----"

Bellamy drew his revolver and slipped around to the front door. He came in
so quietly that neither of the men heard him. Both had their backs to the
door.

"Figure it up, and it makes a right good week's work. I reckon I'll go
down to Chihuahua and break the bank at Miguel's," one of them was
saying.

"Better go to Yuma and break stones for a spell, Buck," suggested a voice
from the doorway.

Both men slewed their heads around as if they had been worked by the same
lever. Their mouths opened, and their eyes bulged. A shining revolver
covered them competently.

"Now, don't you, Buck--nor you either, Tom!" This advice because of a
tentative movement each had made with his right hand. "I'm awful careless
about spilling lead, when I get excited. Better reach for the roof; then
you won't have any temptations to suicide."

The hard eyes of the outlaws swept swiftly over the cattleman. Had he
shown any sign of indecision, they would have taken a chance and shot it
out. But he was so easily master of himself that the impulse to "draw"
died stillborn.

Bellamy gave a sharp, shrill whistle. Footsteps came pounding across the
open, and