here, and late in the morning, after watching trail
and road from a ridge, he returned to Ord. If Jim Fletcher tried to
disguise his surprise the effort was a failure. Certainly he had not
expected to see Duane again. Duane allowed himself a little freedom with
Fletcher, an attitude hitherto lacking.

That afternoon a horseman rode in from Bradford, an outlaw evidently
well known and liked by his fellows, and Duane beard him say, before he
could possibly have been told the train-robber was in Ord, that the loss
of money in the holdup was slight. Like a flash Duane saw the luck of
this report. He pretended not to have heard.

In the early twilight at an opportune moment he called Fletcher to him,
and, linking his arm within the outlaw's, he drew him off in a stroll to
a log bridge spanning a little gully. Here after gazing around, he took
out a roll of bills, spread it out, split it equally, and without a word
handed one half to Fletcher. With clumsy fingers Fletcher ran through
the roll.

"Five hundred!" he exclaimed. "Dodge, thet's damn handsome of you,
considerin' the job wasn't--"

"Considerin' nothin'," interrupted Duane. "I'm makin' no reference to
a job here or there. You did me a good turn. I split my pile. If
thet doesn't make us pards, good turns an' money ain't no use in this
country."

Fletcher was won.

The two men spent much time together. Duane made up a short fictitious
history about himself that satisfied the outlaw, only it drew forth a
laughing jest upon Duane's modesty. For Fletcher did not hide his belief
that this new partner was a man of achievements. Knell and Poggin, and
then Cheseldine himself, would be persuaded of this fact, so Fletcher
boasted. He had influence. He would use it. He thought he pulled a
stroke with Knell. But nobody on earth, not even the boss, had any
influence on Poggin. Poggin was concentrated ice part of the time; all
the rest he was bursting hell. But Poggin loved a horse. He never loved
anything else. He could be won with that black horse Bullet. Cheseldine
was already won by Duane's monumental nerve; otherwise he would have
killed Duane.

Little by little the next few days Duane learned the points he longed
to know; and how indelibly they etched themselves in his memory!
Cheseldine's hiding-place was on the far slope of Mount Ord, in a deep,
high-walled valley. He always went there just before a contemplated job,
where he met and planned with his lieutenants. Th