ll wait a minute," said Lorry.

Waco saw the rider, and asked who he was.

"It's High Chin, the foreman. You been ridin' one of his string of
horses--the black there."

"He's your boss?"

"Yes. And I'm right sorry he's ridin' into this camp. You was talkin' of
feelin's. Well, he ain't got any."

Brewster loped up and dismounted. "What's your tally, kid?"

Lorry shook his head. "Only this," he said jokingly.

Brewster glanced at Waco. "Maverick, all right. Where'd you rope _him_?"

"I run onto him holdin' up some tourists down by the Notch. I'm driftin'
him over to Stacey."

High Chin's eyes narrowed. "Was he ridin' that horse?" And he pointed to
the black.

Lorry admitted that he had found the horse tied in the brush near the
Notch.

High Chin swung round. "You fork your bronc and get busy. There's eighty
head and over strayin' in here, and the old man ain't payin' you to
entertain hobos. I'll herd this hombre to camp."

With his arm outflung the tramp staggered up to the foreman. "I come
back--to tell you--that I'm going to live to get you right. I got a
hunch that all hell can't beat out. I'll get you!"

"We won't have any trouble," said Waring.

High Chin whirled his horse round. "What's it to you? Who are you,
buttin' in on this?"

"My name is Waring. I used to mill around Sonora once."

High Chin blinked. He knew that name. Slowly he realized that the man on
the big buckskin meant what he said when he asserted that there would be
no trouble.

"Well, I'm foreman of the Starr, and you're fired!" he told Lorry.

"That's no news," said Lorry, grinning.

"And I'm goin' to herd this hoss-thief to camp," he continued, spurring
toward Waco, who had started to walk away.

"Not this journey," said Waring, pushing his horse between them. "The
boy don't pack a gun. I do."

"You talk big--knowin' I got no gun," said High Chin.

Lorry rode over to the foreman. "Here's your gun, High. I ain't no
killer."

The foreman holstered the gun and reined round toward Waring. "Now do
your talkin'," he challenged.

Waring made no movement, but sat quietly watching the other's gun hand.
"You have your gun?" he said, as though asking a question. "If you mean
business, go ahead. I'll let you get your gun out--and then I'll get
you--and you know it!" And with insulting ease he flicked his burned-out
cigarette in the foreman's face.

Without a word High Chin whirled his horse and rode toward the hills.

Waring