"Haven't you heard? Lopez has broken off the reservation again."

"Lopez!" exclaimed "Red," forgetting his pipe, his dinner, and even Angela
for the moment. "The devil he has!"

"Uh--uh! Raided the Diamond Dot last night."

"He won't bother us," "Red" smiled, settling back again. "Nothin' to steal
here except the mortgage." He paused, as though in deep thought; but
Gilbert, had he known it, was thinking even harder. Lopez, the Mexican
bandit, was a dim uncertainty; the mortgage was a stern reality.

"You'll want to be drivin' over to the station later?" "Red" went on,
coming to the table, and taking off his spurs.

"Yes," Gilbert answered. He had folded all the blankets neatly, rose, and
went over to the window-box to get some strong cord.

"In the gallopin' wash-boiler?" "Red" smiled, "_That_ still belongs to
us--I mean, you." He clinked his spurs on the table.

"Us is right, 'Red.' You said you'd been a partner. You have. Some day I'm
going to tell you how grateful I am." In his preoccupation, he forgot to
tie up the blankets; and, one hand on "Red's" shoulder, he let the cord
fall on the table.

"Aw, that's all right," "Red" said. He didn't like to be thanked, and he
avoided even the shadow of sentimentality with Jones. After all, they were
two young fellows, playing a big game together, taking big chances; and
what was the use of talking about it? "What are you going to tell the
Pells?" he suddenly asked, glad to get off the immediate subject.

"Pells?"

"Say, I'm goin' to poke that bird in the beak some day!" "Red" declared.

Jones smiled. "What's he done to you?"

"Nothin'. He'd better not. It's the way he treats his wife. She's so darn
game, too. I wouldn't treat a horse the way he treats her. Well, what are
you goin' to tell them?"

Gilbert stood perfectly still. He was in deep thought. Finally he spoke.

"I'm going to tell them I'm going away--important business."

"East?" "Red" asked. He had seated himself at the table, and picked up
Gilbert's pen, and began making curious little scrawls with it on a piece
of paper, as a business man sometimes does when he is telephoning.

"No. West," answered Jones. "They're going East."

"What are you going to do?" "Red" was amused rather than alarmed.

"Oh, I'll get a job somewhere. Punch cows--or maybe join the rangers.
There's always something a fellow can do."

"An' what about your uncle?"

"I'll put him up in Bisbee till I get a chance to ship