d me. Had I ever had
anything but luck in these dangerous deals?

Snecker seemed to fume; internally there was a volcano. His wide
sombrero and bushy beard hid all of his face except his eyes, which were
deepset furnaces. He, too, like his lieutenant, had been carried
completely off balance by the strange message apparently from Sampson.
It was Sampson's name that had fooled and decoyed these men. "Hey!
You're the feller who jest left word fer some one at the Hope So?" he
asked.

"Yes," I replied, while with my left hand I patted the neck of my horse,
holding him still.

"Sampson wants me bad, eh?"

"Reckon there's only one man who wants you more."

Steadily, I met his piercing gaze. This was a rustler not to be long
victim to any ruse. I waited in cold surety.

"You thet cowboy, Russ?" he asked.

"I was--and I'm not!" I replied significantly.

The violent start of this violent outlaw was a rippling jerk of passion.
"What'n hell!" he ejaculated.

"Bill, you're easy."

"Who're you?" he uttered hoarsely.

I watched Snecker with hawk-like keenness. "United States deputy
marshal. Bill, you're under arrest!"

He roared a mad curse as his hand clapped down to his gun. Then I fired
through my sombrero. Snecker's big horse plunged. The rustler fell back,
and one of his legs pitched high as he slid off the lunging steed. His
other foot caught in the stirrup. This fact terribly frightened the
horse. He bolted, dragging the rustler for a dozen jumps. Then Snecker's
foot slipped loose. He lay limp and still and shapeless in the road. I
did not need to go back to look him over.

But to make assurance doubly sure, I dismounted, and went back to where
he lay. My bullet had gone where it had been aimed. As I rode up into
Sampson's court-yard and turned in to the porch I heard loud and angry
voices. Sampson and Wright were quarrelling again. How my lucky star
guided me! I had no plan of action, but my brain was equal to a hundred
lightning-swift evolutions. The voices ceased. The men had heard the
horse. Both of them came out on the porch. In an instant I was again the
lolling impudent cowboy, half under the influence of liquor.

"It's only Russ and he's drunk," said George Wright contemptuously.

"I heard horses trotting off there," replied Sampson. "Maybe the girls
are coming. I bet I teach them not to run off again--Hello, Russ."

He looked haggard and thin, but seemed amiable enough. He was in his
shirt-sleeves