created! Behind it, somehow nameless with
inconceivable power, surged all his wonderful knowledge of forest, of
trails, of scents, of night, of the nature of men lying down to sleep in
the dark, lonely woods, of the nature of this great cat that lived its
every action in accordance with his will.

He grew sleepy, and gradually his mind stilled, with his last conscious
thought a portent that he would awaken to accomplish his desperate task.

CHAPTER XX

Young Burt possessed the keenest eyes of any man in Snake Anson's
gang, for which reason he was given the post as lookout from the lofty
promontory. His instructions were to keep sharp watch over the open
slopes below and to report any sight of a horse.

A cedar fire with green boughs on top of dead wood sent up a long, pale
column of smoke. This signal-fire had been kept burning since sunrise.

The preceding night camp had been made on a level spot in the cedars
back of the promontory. But manifestly Anson did not expect to remain
there long. For, after breakfast, the packs had been made up and the
horses stood saddled and bridled. They were restless and uneasy, tossing
bits and fighting flies. The sun, now half-way to meridian, was hot and
no breeze blew in that sheltered spot.

Shady Jones had ridden off early to fill the water-bags, and had not yet
returned. Anson, thinner and scalier and more snakelike than ever,
was dealing a greasy, dirty deck of cards, his opponent being the
square-shaped, black-visaged Moze. In lieu of money the gamblers wagered
with cedar-berries, each of which berries represented a pipeful of
tobacco. Jim Wilson brooded under a cedar-tree, his unshaven face a
dirty dust-hue, a smoldering fire in his light eyes, a sullen set to his
jaw. Every little while he would raise his eyes to glance at Riggs, and
it seemed that a quick glance was enough. Riggs paced to and fro in
the open, coatless and hatless, his black-broadcloth trousers and
embroidered vest dusty and torn. An enormous gun bumped awkwardly in
its sheath swinging below his hip. Riggs looked perturbed. His face was
sweating freely, yet it was far from red in color. He did not appear to
mind the sun or the flies. His eyes were staring, dark, wild, shifting
in gaze from everything they encountered. But often that gaze shot back
to the captive girl sitting under a cedar some yards from the man.

Bo Rayner's little, booted feet were tied together with one end of a
lasso and the ot