s jaw dropped at the same
instant. These were absolutely the only visible movements.

"I'm in talkin' humor, an' the longer you listen the longer you'll have
to live," said Wade. "But don't move!"

"We ain't movin'," burst out Smith. "Who're you, an' what d'ye want?"

It was singular that the rustler leader had not had a look at Wade,
whose movements had been swift and who now stood directly behind him.
Also it was obvious that Smith was sitting very stiff-necked and
straight. Not improbably he had encountered such situations before.

"Who're you?" he shouted, hoarsely.

"You ought to know me." The voice was Wade's, gentle, cold, with depth
and ring in it.

"I've heerd your voice somewhars--I'll gamble on thet."

"Sure. You ought to recognize my voice, Cap," returned Wade.

The rustler gave a violent start--a start that he controlled instantly.

"Cap! You callin' me thet?"

"Sure. We're old friends--_Cap Folsom!_"

In the silence, then, the rustler's hard breathing could be heard; his
neck bulged red; only the eyes of his two comrades moved; Belllounds
began to recover somewhat from his consternation. Fear had clamped him
also, but not fear of personal harm or peril. His mind had not yet
awakened to that.

"You've got me pat! But who're you?" said Folsom, huskily.

Wade kept silent.

"Who'n hell is thet man?" yelled the rustler It was not a query to his
comrades any more than to the four winds. It was a furious questioning
of a memory that stirred and haunted, and as well a passionate and
fearful denial.

"His name's Wade," put in Belllounds, harshly. "He's the friend of Wils
Moore. He's the hunter I told you about--worked for my father
last winter."

"Wade?... What? _Wade!_ You never told me his name. It ain't--it
ain't--"

"Yes, it is, Cap," interrupted Wade. "It's the old boy that spoiled your
handsome mug--long ago."

"_Hell-Bent Wade!_" gasped Folsom, in terrible accents. He shook all
over. An ashen paleness crept into his face. Instinctively his right
hand jerked toward his gun; then, as in his former motion, froze in
the very act.

"Careful, Cap!" warned Wade. "It'd be a shame not to hear me talk a
little.... Turn around now an' greet an old pard of the Gunnison days."

Folsom turned as if a resistless, heavy force was revolving his head.

"By Gawd!... Wade!" he ejaculated. The tone of his voice, the light in
his eyes, must have been a spiritual acceptance of a dreadful and
irrefutable