Lennon, as he languidly sank back into his chair. "Deuce
take it! The results of a Gila monster's bite are more serious than I
would have anticipated."

"Sure--apt to be mighty serious, son, if you don't look out what you
do," agreed Slade. "Guess, though, Carmena got you started off right.
We'll see about it soon's I've fed. Here's my Cookie Gal dishing up."

He thumped down at the table and voraciously fell to upon the food that
Elsie hastened to serve him and Cochise. While he plied knife and spoon
he chaffed the blushing girl with a familiarity that made Lennon's blood
boil. Elsie's forced smile and murmured responses did not conceal the
painfulness of her embarrassment.

Yet Lennon's hot impulse to interpose was checked and cooled when he
thought to look at Carmena. Like her father, she was smiling at Slade
and at the same time covertly watching Cochise. The handsome face of the
young Apache seemed utterly blank of all expression except gluttonish
enjoyment of the food he was wolfing. But under the edge of the table
Lennon saw his hand steal down and fondle the hilt of his sheath knife.

The game was now evident. If the rivals were permitted to attack each
other, one or both would almost certainly be killed. A murderous feud
between their men would as certainly follow. Lennon's anger against the
unpleasant pair was intense enough for him to consider the scheme
justified, though its suggestion of treachery deepened his prejudice
against Carmena.

CHAPTER XII

A BARGAIN

During the meal prepared by Elsie a solemn avowal by Slade that the cook
must go home with him brought the knife of Cochise half out of its
sheath.

Slade either did not see the movement, or, if he did, he contemptuously
disregarded its menace. He had turned to Farley, his big red face and
pale blue eyes suddenly sober.

"Well, Dad," he boomed, "guess we'd better hold a seance and git Brother
Cochise back into a proper spiritual frame of mind. I got some
converting work for him to go out and do."

Cochise shot a side glance at Elsie.

"You leave my woman--I go. Sabe?"

The trader burst into his hoarse laugh.

"Go to hell! Can't you take a joke? We're pards, ain't we? Can't I josh
the gal without you gitting rattlesnakey? Don't suppose I meant it, do
you? Come on, Dad. Git a hustle on you. We got to hold that seance."

He looked at Lennon with a hard smile.

"We run a lodge here---- Spirits Order Secret Scotch Rites. We'll