unknowingly
touched upon a problem in higher mathematics. He slipped a hand into
his pocket.

But the friend whom an old, long-forgotten kindness raised now for him
at his need, shook his head, would have none of Packard's money, and
led the way to a shed behind the saloon. Out of the darkness he
brought a tall, wall-eyed roan, quickly saddled and bridled and handed
over to Steve.

"Heeled?" came solicitously from the little man as Steve swung up into
the saddle.

"No."

"Well, Blenham is. He goes that way all the time. An' he's a right
good shot, the boys say. If there's some real sour blood stirred up
between him an' you there's no use bein' a plumb fool, is there? The
store's apt to be open yet; there's a firs'-class double-barrel
shot-gun, secon'-hand but as good as new, in the window. Only seven
dollars an' a half."

"I'll send the horse over to Brocky's to-morrow," called Steve. "And
as for being square--call on me at any time for the next favor. So
long."

"So long," responded the slow-voiced man.

Steve swung out toward the east, curbing his mount's eagerness,
settling himself in the saddle for a couple of hours of hard riding.
Slowly he would warm up the big roan, letting him out gradually,
steadily. Already he sensed that in truth here was "a cayuse hard to
beat for legs an' lungs." And Blenham's head-start was but a matter of
minutes, half an hour at most.

But before he had ridden fifty yards Steve whirled his horse and rode
back, going straight to the store. After all, since Blenham was
playing a game in which the stakes were no less than ten thousand
dollars, since Blenham was without doubt the man who had sought to kill
Bill Royce six months ago for the very same money, since Blenham always
"went heeled and was a right good shot," why then, as Brocky Lane's
cowboy put it, "there was no use bein' a plumb fool." And to ride a
hundred yards or so and buy a Colt .45 and a box of cartridges required
but a moment.

In the store the long shelves upon one side held dry-goods, while upon
the opposite shelves a miscellany of groceries was displayed; toward
the rear was the storekeeper's assortment of hardware near a counter
piled high with sweaters, boots, chaparejos, all jumbled hopelessly.
At the flank of this confusion was a show-case containing a rather fair
line of side-arms. Steve, his eye finding what it sought, went
straight to the back of the house. And then, looking through a