or a decision. He shook his head and declared the
match a draw. And technically it was a draw. Every one seemed satisfied,
although there was much discussion among individuals as to the relative
merits of the contestants.

As the crowd dispersed and some of them prepared to ride home, two
horsemen appeared on the northern road, riding toward town. As they drew
nearer Shoop chuckled. Lorry, standing a few paces away, glanced at him.

The supervisor was talking to Bob Brewster. "High, you're the best I
ever stacked up against, exceptin' one, and it's right curious that he
is just a-ridin' into this powwow. If you want to see what real shootin'
is, get him to show you."

"I don't know your friend," said High, eyeing the approaching horsemen,
"but he's a beaut if he can outshoot you."

"Outshoot me? Say, High, that hombre ridin' the big buckskin hoss there
could make us look about as fast as a couple of fence-posts when it
comes to handlin' a gun. And his pardner ain't what you'd call slow."

High Chin's lean face darkened as he recognized Waring riding beside a
gaunt, long-legged man whose gray eyes twinkled as he surveyed the
little group.

"Pat--and Jim Waring," muttered Shoop. "And us just finished what some
would call a ole-time shootin'-bee!"

"Who's your friend?" queried High Chin, although he knew.

"Him? That's Jim Waring, of Sonora. And say, High, I ain't his
advertisin' agent, but between you and me he could shoot the fuzz out of
your ears and never as much as burn 'em. What I'm tellin' you is
first-class life insurance if you ain't took out any. And before you go
I just want to pass the word that young Adams is workin' for _me_.
Reckon you might be interested, seein' as how he worked for you a
spell."

High Chin met Shoop's gaze unblinkingly. He was about to speak when Pat
and Waring, rode up and greeted the supervisor. High Chin wheeled his
horse and loped back to town. A few minutes later he and his men rode
past. To Shoop's genial wave of farewell they returned a whoop that
seemed edged with a vague challenge.

Pat, who was watching them, asked Shoop who the man was riding the
pinto.

"Why, that's High-Chin Bob Brewster, Starr fo'man. He's kind of a wild
bird. I reckon he came over here lookin' for trouble. He's been walkin'
around with his wings and tail spread like he was mad at somethin'."

"I thought I knew him," said Pat. And he shrugged his shoulders.

Shoop noticed that Waring was gazin