gaze.

"What say you, Jake? We can only leave it to the sheriff and be on our
guard."

The foreman fumbled out his reply almost too eagerly.

"Yes," he said, "sure; we must be on our guard. Guess we'd better send
out night guards to the different stations." He stretched himself with
an assumption of ease. Then suddenly he sat bolt upright and a
peculiar expression came into his eyes. Tresler detected the half
smile and the side glance in his own direction. "Yes," he went on,
composedly enough now, "partic'larly Willow Bluff."

"Why Willow Bluff?" asked the rancher, with some perplexity.

"Why? Why? Because we're waitin' to ship them two hundred beeves to
the coast. They're sold, you remember, an' ther's only them two
Breeds, Jim an' Lag Henderson, in charge of 'em. Why, it 'ud be pie, a
dead soft snap fer Red Mask's gang. An' the station's that lonesome.
All o' twenty mile from here."

Julian Marbolt sat thinking for a moment. "Yes, you're right," he
agreed at last. "We'll send out extra night guards. And you'd best
detail two good, reliable men for a few days at Willow Bluff. Only
thoroughly reliable men, mind. You see to it."

Jake turned to Tresler at once, his face beaming with a malicious
grin. And the latter understood. But he was not prepared for the
skilful trap which his archenemy was baiting for him, and into which
he was to promptly fall.

"How'd it suit you, Tresler?" he asked. Then without waiting for a
reply he went on, "But ther', I guess it wouldn't do sendin' you. You
ain't the sort to get scrappin' hoss thieves. It wants grit. It's
tough work an' needs tough men. Pshaw!"

Tresler's blood was up in a moment. He forgot discretion and
everything else under the taunt.

"I don't know that it wouldn't do, Jake," he retorted promptly. "It
seems to me your remarks come badly from a man who has reason to
know--to remember--that I am capable of holding my own with most men,
even those big enough to eat me."

He saw his blunder even while he was speaking. But he was red-hot with
indignation and didn't care a jot for the consequences. And Jake came
at him. If the foreman's taunt had roused him, it was nothing to the
effect of his reply. Jake crossed the room in a couple of strides and
his furious face was thrust close into Tresler's, and, in a voice
hoarse with passion, he fairly gasped at him--

"I ain't fergot. An' by G----"

But he got no further. A movement on the part of the rancher
interru