worth
in gold," declared the outlaw, grimly.

"Snake, I've seen stronger gangs than yours come an' go. Them Big Bend
gangs in my country--them rustlers--they were all bad men. You have no
likes of them gangs out heah. If they didn't get wiped out by Rangers
or cowboys, why they jest naturally wiped out themselves. Thet's a law I
recognize in relation to gangs like them. An' as for yours--why, Anson,
it wouldn't hold water against one real gun-slinger."

"A-huh' Then if we ran up ag'in' Carmichael or some such fellar--would
you be suckin' your finger like a baby?"

"Wal, I wasn't takin' count of myself. I was takin' generalities."

"Aw, what 'n hell are them?" asked Anson, disgustedly. "Jim, I know as
well as you thet this hyar gang is hard put. We're goin' to be trailed
an' chased. We've got to hide--be on the go all the time--here an'
there--all over, in the roughest woods. An' wait our chance to work
south."

"Shore. But, Snake, you ain't takin' no count of the feelin's of the
men--an' of mine an' yours.... I'll bet you my hoss thet in a day or so
this gang will go to pieces."

"I'm feared you spoke what's been crowdin' to git in my mind," replied
Anson. Then he threw up his hands in a strange gesture of resignation.
The outlaw was brave, but all men of the wilds recognized a force
stronger than themselves. He sat there resembling a brooding snake with
basilisk eyes upon the fire. At length he arose, and without another
word to his comrade he walked wearily to where lay the dark, quiet forms
of the sleepers.

Jim Wilson remained beside the flickering fire. He was reading something
in the red embers, perhaps the past. Shadows were on his face, not all
from the fading flames or the towering spruces. Ever and anon he raised
his head to listen, not apparently that he expected any unusual sound,
but as if involuntarily. Indeed, as Anson had said, there was something
nameless in the air. The black forest breathed heavily, in fitful moans
of wind. It had its secrets. The glances Wilson threw on all sides
betrayed that any hunted man did not love the dark night, though it hid
him. Wilson seemed fascinated by the life inclosed there by the black
circle of spruce. He might have been reflecting on the strange reaction
happening to every man in that group, since a girl had been brought
among them. Nothing was clear, however; the forest kept its secret, as
did the melancholy wind; the outlaws were sleeping like tired beast