crouching low to get any advancing object
against what sky line there was, made out the shape of a mounted man.
Horse and man stood like an equestrian statue, barely distinguishable,
though but a few yards away.

The rider disappeared from the saddle. Sandy heard his feet crashing in
the low bushes, heard him stumble and swear.

"Ought to be about here," words came faintly to Sandy's ears. "If ever
I try to find ... on a night like this...."

"Looking for me, sure," thought Sandy. "Maybe it's Glass; maybe it
isn't. Wonder how many there are. Anyway, I'll fix this one."

Soft-footed as a great cat, he crept toward the voice. The man loomed
in front of him; his back was turned. Sandy rose soundlessly behind
him. With a sudden vicious sweep his left arm shot across the
stranger's left shoulder and around his throat. His right hand shoved
the muzzle of his gun beneath the man's right ear.

"Don't move or let one yip out of you!" he hissed tensely.

After one convulsive start the stranger stood motionless. "Nary move
nor yip," he whispered confidentially into the night. "And if that
gun's a light pull, be mighty careful of the trigger!"

"Talk and talk quiet," said Sandy. "How many are there of you?"

"Be mighty careful of that gun if you're seein' double that way!" the
stranger admonished again nervously. "Was you expectin' twins or
somethin'?"

"You alone?"

"Yep."

"What's your name?"

"Smith."

"What you doing here?"

"Lookin' for the spring to camp by."

"Where you heading for?"

"Into the hills, prospectin'."

"Where's Glass?" Sandy asked suddenly.

"Search me. I got nothin' to do with that durn fool."

The tone and the words gave Sandy the surprise of his life. His arm
dropped away from the stranger's throat, and his gun ceased to threaten
the base of his skull.

"Tom McHale!" he cried.

"You sound some like a _cultus_ young devil named McCrae," said McHale,
peering at him in the dark. "Say, what in the flarin' blazes you doin'
here?"

"Take some yourself," Sandy responded. "Are they after you, too?"

McHale shook his head sadly. "Sonny," said he, "you're too young to be
havin' them cute little visions of things bein' after you. I reckon
maybe we're pullin' two ways on one rope. Also, we ain't gettin' no
drier standin' here chewin' about it. Maybe you got a camp somewheres.
S'pose you find the latchstring. Then we'll have a talk."

Thus admonished, Sandy led the way to his lean-to, re