"Too much dust for one horse."

Annixter, who had taken his field glasses from Harran, adjusted them to
his eyes.

"That's not them," he announced presently, "nor Hooven either. That's
a cart." Then after another moment, he added, "The butcher's cart from
Guadalajara."

The tension was relaxed. The men drew long breaths, settling back in
their places.

"Do we let him go on, Governor?"

"The bridge is down. He can't go by and we must not let him go back. We
shall have to detain him and question him. I wonder the marshal let him
pass."

The cart approached at a lively trot.

"Anybody else in that cart, Mr. Annixter?" asked Magnus. "Look
carefully. It may be a ruse. It is strange the marshal should have let
him pass."

The Leaguers roused themselves again. Osterman laid his hand on his
revolver.

"No," called Annixter, in another instant, "no, there's only one man in
it."

The cart came up, and Cutter and Phelps, clambering from the ditch,
stopped it as it arrived in front of the party.

"Hey--what--what?" exclaimed the young butcher, pulling up. "Is that
bridge broke?"

But at the idea of being held, the boy protested at top voice, badly
frightened, bewildered, not knowing what was to happen next.

"No, no, I got my meat to deliver. Say, you let me go. Say, I ain't got
nothing to do with you."

He tugged at the reins, trying to turn the cart about. Cutter, with his
jack-knife, parted the reins just back of the bit.

"You'll stay where you are, m' son, for a while. We're not going to hurt
you. But you are not going back to town till we say so. Did you pass
anybody on the road out of town?"

In reply to the Leaguers' questions, the young butcher at last told
them he had passed a two-horse buggy and a lot of men on horseback just
beyond the railroad tracks. They were headed for Los Muertos.

"That's them, all right," muttered Annixter. "They're coming by this
road, sure."

The butcher's horse and cart were led to one side of the road, and the
horse tied to the fence with one of the severed lines. The butcher,
himself, was passed over to Presley, who locked him in Hooven's barn.

"Well, what the devil," demanded Osterman, "has become of Bismarck?"

In fact, the butcher had seen nothing of Hooven. The minutes were
passing, and still he failed to appear.

"What's he up to, anyways?"

"Bet you what you like, they caught him. Just like that crazy Dutchman
to get excited and go too near. You can alwa