desired, and not incompatible with honor. In a flash he realized the
difference, the distinction between trickery and keenness of mind. He
had been awed by his uncle's reputation and proud to name him of this
family. Now he saw him for what he was. "My Uncle Jose is a bad man," he
said to himself. "The other,--the gringo whom men call 'The Killer,'--he
is a hard man, but assuredly he is not bad."

When Ramon spoke to his horse his voice trembled. His hand drifted up to
the little silver crucifix on his breast. A vague glimmer of
understanding, a sense of the real significance of the emblem heartened
him to face the journey homeward and the questions of his kin. And,
above all, he felt an admiration for the gringo that grew by degrees as
he rode on. He could follow such a man to the end of the world, even
across the border of the Great Unknown, for surely such a leader would
not lose the way.

* * * * *

Three men sat in the office of the Ortez Mines, smoking and saying
little. Donovan, the manager; the paymaster, Quigley; and the assistant
manager, a young American fresh from the East. Waring's name was
mentioned. Three days ago he had ridden south after the bandits. He
might return. He might not.

"I'd like to see him ride in," said Donovan, turning to the paymaster.

"And you hate him at that," said Quigley.

"I don't say so. But if he was paymaster here, he'd put the fear of God
into some of those greasers."

Quigley flushed. "You didn't hire me to chase greasers, Donovan. I'm no
gunman."

"No," said Donovan slowly. "I had you sized up."

"Oh, cut out that stuff!" said the assistant manager, smiling. "That
won't balance the pay-roll."

"No. But I'm going to cut down expenses." And Donovan eyed Quigley. "Jim
Waring is too dam' high and mighty to suit me. Every time he tackles a
job he is the big boss till it's done. If he comes back, all right. If
he don't--we'll charge it up to profit and loss. But his name goes off
the pay-roll to-day."

Quigley grinned. He knew that Donovan was afraid of Waring. Waring was
the one man in Donovan's employ that he could not bully. Moreover, the
big Irishman hated to pay Waring's price, which was stiff.

"How about a raise of twenty-five a month, then?" queried Quigley.

To his surprise, Donovan nodded genially. "You're on, Jack. And that
goes the minute Waring shows up with the money. If he doesn't show
up--why, that raise can wait."