cy.
The fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes tightened a bit.

"This is a poor time for strangers to be hanging around," said the
dark man in a loud voice. "The Dixie Queen pay-roll has been taking
wings too often."

The implication and the murmur from the spectators was not lost upon
Rathburn. His lips tightened into a fine, white line.

"Whoever you are, you've got more mouth than brains!" he said crisply
in a voice which carried over the room.

The effect of his words was electric. There was a sharp intaking of
breath from the spectators. The dark man's face froze, and his eyes
darted red. His right hand seemed to hang on the instant for the swoop
to his gun. Rathburn appeared to be smiling queerly out of his eyes.
Then came a sharp interruption.

"Just a minute, Carlisle!"

Rathburn recognized the voice of Mannix, and a moment later the deputy
stepped between them.

"What's the idea?" he asked coolly.

"This gentleman you just called Carlisle seems to have appointed
himself a reception committee to welcome me into the enterprising town
of High Point," drawled Rathburn, with a laugh.

Mannix turned on Carlisle with a scowl, and Carlisle shrugged
impatiently, his eyes still glaring balefully at Rathburn.

The deputy again confronted Rathburn. "Had your supper?" he asked.

"Best steak I've had in two months," Rathburn replied cheerfully.

"Horse taken care of?"

"First thing." There was a note of derision in Rathburn's tone.
"Service at the hotel barn is high grade."

Mannix's eyes hardened before he spoke again. He hesitated, but when
his words came they were clear-cut and stern.

"Then come with me an' I'll show you where to sleep."

"You mean in jail?" queried Rathburn.

Mannix nodded coldly.

"Sheriff," said Rathburn, in a peculiar tone, addressing the deputy
but looking over his shoulder directly into Carlisle's eyes; "if
there's one thing I'm noted for, it's for being a good guesser!"

CHAPTER XVI

THE DIXIE'S BOSS

If Mannix expected any resistance from Rathburn he soon found that
none was to materialize. The deputy, a short, rather stout man of
perhaps thirty-nine, with bronzed features, clear, brown eyes, and a
protruding jaw covered with a stubble of reddish-brown beard, was
nevertheless wary of his prisoner. He had not yet obtained Rathburn's
gun, and he recognized the unmistakable signs of a seasoned gunman in
the lounging but graceful postures of his prisoner, in the