miss twice runnin'."

"You mean to say--"

Bemis stopped him with a cautious gesture. "Where's that sneaking
greaser?" he asked in a low tone, his eyes shifting nervously to the open
door.

"Out saddling her horse."

"Oh! Well, listen." The young puncher's voice sank almost to a whisper.
"That sendin' me down to Las Vegas was a plant; I'm shore of it. My orders
was to sleep days an' patrol around nights to get a line on who was after
the cattle. I wasn't awful keen about it, but still an' all, I didn't
think they'd dare do what they tried to."

"You mean there weren't any rustlers at all?" put in Stratton
impulsively.

"Shore there was, but they didn't fire that shot that winged me. I'd just
got sight of 'em four or five hundred yards away an' was ridin' along in
the shadow tryin' to edge close enough to size 'em up an' mebbe pick off a
couple. My cayuse was headin' south, with the rustlers pretty near dead
ahead, when I come to a patch of moonlight I had to cross. I pulled out
considerable to ride around a spur just beyond, so when that shot came I
was facin' pretty near due east. The bullet hit me in the left leg, yuh
recollect."

Stratton's eyes narrowed. "Then it must have been fired from the
north--from the direction of the--"

He broke off abruptly as Rick's fingers gripped his wrist.

"Look!" breathed Bemis, in a voice that was scarcely audible.

He was staring over the low foot-board of the bed straight at the open
door, and Buck swiftly followed the direction of his glance. For an
instant he saw nothing. The doorway was quite empty, and he could not hear
a sound. Then, of a sudden, his gaze swept on across the living-room and
he caught his breath.

On the further wall, directly opposite the bedroom door, hung a long
mirror in a tarnished gilded frame. It reflected not only the other side
of the doorway but a portion of the wall on either side of it--reflected
clearly, among other things, the stooping figure of a woman, her limp
calico skirts dragged cautiously back in one skinny hand, her sharp,
swarthy face bent slightly forward in an unmistakable attitude of
listening.

CHAPTER IX

REVELATIONS

It was the Mexican woman, Maria. As Buck recognized her he rose quietly
and moved swiftly toward the door. But if he had hoped to catch her
unawares, he was disappointed. He had scarcely taken a step when, through
the telltale mirror, he saw her straighten like a flash and move back with
ca