e window.

It occurred to him that the nighthawk must have been restless and had
elected to wash at the creek bank instead of indulging in sleep, thus
accounting for the bobbing hat he had seen, for assuredly it did not
belong to the cook, as he had surmised. The face behind the gun was
the face of Waddles.

"I'm about to touch off a pound of shot if you go acting up," Waddles
said. "Any more talk like you was just handing out and you'll get
smeared here and there."

"Are you running the Three Bar?" Slade asked.

"Only at times, when the notion strikes me," Waddles said. "And this
is one. Whenever you've got any specific business to transact with us
why come right along over and transact it--and then move on out."

Billie Warren laughed suddenly, a gurgle of sheer amusement at the
sight of the most dreaded man within a hundred miles standing there
under the muzzle of a shotgun, receiving instructions from the mouth of
the Three Bar cook. For Slade was helpless and knew it. Even if he
took a chance with Waddles and won out he would be in worse shape than
before, for if he turned a finger against her old watchdog and friend
he would gain only her deadly enmity.

"Waddles, you win," Slade said. "I'll be going before you change your
mind."

As the man walked toward his horse which had sidled a few steps away
the big cook gazed after him and fingered the riot gun regretfully.

The wagon did not move on when the men had finished working the herd as
the rest of the day had been set aside for kill-time. An hour after
Slade's departure the hands were rolling in for a sleep. The girl saw
Rile Foster draw apart from the rest and sit with his back against a
rock. He was regarding some small object held in his hand. As he
turned it around she recognized it as a boot heel and the reason for
Rile's absence was clear to her. He had back-tracked the blue horse to
the scene of the mishap.

She was half asleep when a voice some distance from the teepee roused
her by speaking the name of Bangs.

"I've a pretty elastic conscience myself," the voice went on. "I'm not
above lifting a few calves for the brand I'm riding for or any little
thing like that, but this deal sort of gorges up in me. They'll never
cinch it on to any man--they never do. Old Rile is brooding over it.
He'll likely run amuck. One way or another he'll try to break even for
Bangs."

Billie recognized the voice as Moore's and knew that one of he