an' some of you rustle fire-wood in here."

Low, muttered curses, then mingled with dull thuds of hoofs and strain
of leather and heaves of tired horses.

Another shuffling, clinking footstep entered the cabin.

"Snake, it'd been sense to fetch a pack along," drawled this newcomer.

"Reckon so, Jim. But we didn't, an' what's the use hollerin'? Beasley
won't keep us waitin' long."

Dale, lying still and prone, felt a slow start in all his blood--a
thrilling wave. That deep-voiced man below was Snake Anson, the worst
and most dangerous character of the region; and the others, undoubtedly,
composed his gang, long notorious in that sparsely settled country.
And the Beasley mentioned--he was one of the two biggest ranchers and
sheep-raisers of the White Mountain ranges. What was the meaning of
a rendezvous between Snake Anson and Beasley? Milt Dale answered that
question to Beasley's discredit; and many strange matters pertaining to
sheep and herders, always a mystery to the little village of Pine, now
became as clear as daylight.

Other men entered the cabin.

"It ain't a-goin' to rain much," said one. Then came a crash of wood
thrown to the ground.

"Jim, hyar's a chunk of pine log, dry as punk," said another.

Rustlings and slow footsteps, and then heavy thuds attested to the
probability that Jim was knocking the end of a log upon the ground to
split off a corner whereby a handful of dry splinters could be procured.

"Snake, lemme your pipe, an' I'll hev a fire in a jiffy."

"Wal, I want my terbacco an' I ain't carin' about no fire," replied
Snake.

"Reckon you're the meanest cuss in these woods," drawled Jim.

Sharp click of steel on flint--many times--and then a sound of hard
blowing and sputtering told of Jim's efforts to start a fire. Presently
the pitchy blackness of the cabin changed; there came a little crackling
of wood and the rustle of flame, and then a steady growing roar.

As it chanced, Dale lay face down upon the floor of the loft, and right
near his eyes there were cracks between the boughs. When the fire blazed
up he was fairly well able to see the men below. The only one he had
ever seen was Jim Wilson, who had been well known at Pine before Snake
Anson had ever been heard of. Jim was the best of a bad lot, and he had
friends among the honest people. It was rumored that he and Snake did
not pull well together.

"Fire feels good," said the burly Moze, who appeared as broad as he was
blac