r an encouraging sign.

"Mr. Doane--he is not lucky at cards," continued Gomez. "He like to
play, and he play lots; but not too well. Maybe he have more luck in
love--while you are away."

"What do you mean?" asked Rathburn through his teeth.

"Oh, you do not know?" The Mexican raised his black brows. "While you
are away, Mr. Doane make hay while the sun shine bright. He was there
much. He was there last night before you. He tries hard to steal your
senorita before you come, and he will try to keep her now." He winked
slyly.

Rathburn suddenly grasped him by the throat. "What are you tryin' to
say?" he asked sternly, shaking the Mexican like a rat.

Gomez broke away, his black eyes darting fire. "You are a fool!" he
exclaimed. "You get nothing. Even your woman, she is stole right under
your eyes. Doane, he goes there, and he gets her. She fall for him
fast. Then she talks to you with sugar in her mouth, and you believe.
Bah! You think the Senorita Mallory----"

Rathburn's open palm crashed against the Mexican's mouth.

"Don't speak her name, you greaser!"

Gomez staggered back under the force of the slap. His eyes were pin
points of fire. He raised his right hand to his mouth and then to the
brim of his sombrero. His breath came in hissing gasps, as the hatred
blazed in his glittering eyes.

Rathburn's face was white under its heavy coating of tan. He saw the
few men at the bar turn and look in their direction, and he realized
instinctively that these men were gamblers and shady characters who
were probably friends of Eagen and his gang.

"I give you my regards," cried Gomez in a frenzy of rage. "You--gringo!"

His right hand tipped his sombrero in a lightning move, and there was
a flash in the sunlight filtering through the back windows, as
Rathburn's gun barked at his hip.

Gomez crumpled backward to the floor, as the knife dropped from his
grasp at the beginning of the throw.

Rathburn, still holding his smoking gun ready, walked rapidly past the
men at the bar and gained the open through the door at the rear.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE COMPASS FAILS

In the alley behind the buildings fronting on the main street,
Rathburn paused in indecision, while he shoved his gun into the
holster on his thigh. He had known by the look in Gomez's eyes that he
was going to throw a knife. Instinct had caused him to watch the
Mexican's right hand, and, in the instant when Gomez had secured the
knife from his hat