camp. Always he had answered the call of adventure regardless of where
it led.

His thoughts were fugitive, inconsequent. Now they had to do with Daisy
Ellington, the New York chorus girl whose mobile, piquant face was
helping to make the Lunar reels popular. Steve was engaged in a
whirlwind flirtation with her which both of them were enjoying
extremely. He liked her slangy audacity, the frank good-fellowship with
which she had met him. Daisy was a good sport. She might pretend to sigh
for the lights of Manhattan, but she was having a tremendously good time
in Arizona.

"Reach for the roof, friend. No, I wouldn't rock the boat if I was you.
Sit steady and don't move."

The words came to Yeager low but imperative. Automatically his hands
went into the air even as he slewed his head to find out who was voicing
the curt command. A rope dropped over his arms and was jerked tight just
below the knees. Very cautiously a man emerged from behind a clump of
cholla. The first thing he did was to remove the automatic revolver from
the cowpuncher's chaps, the second to wind the rope tightly around his
legs.

Steve made no comment, asked no questions. He knew that he would find
out all about it in time. Just now he was not running the show.

"I expect your arms must be tired grabbin' at the stars. Drop 'em down
clost to your sides. That's fine. Lucky you didn't start anything
coarse, my friend."

The man gave a low whistle, evidently a signal, then moved for the first
time within range of his prisoner's eyes. He was masked and wore a soft
black hat pulled well down over his forehead. A Mexican serape had been
flung carelessly across his well-built shoulders.

Adroitly he bound Yeager's arms to his side by winding the rope round
and round his body, after which he knotted it tightly several times at a
point just between the shoulder blades.

The range-rider observed that he was a heavy-set, powerful man of about
his own height. He wore plain shiny leather chaps and the usual
high-heeled boots of a cowpuncher.

Presently three other men appeared out of the darkness, bringing with
them Orman and Shorty, both of whom, wakened out of a sound sleep, were
plainly surprised and disturbed.

Shorty was protesting plaintively. "This here ain't no way to treat a
man. I ain't done nothin'. There ain't no occasion whatever for a gun
play. What d'you want, anyhow? I'm no bad hombre. And me sleepin' so
peaceable, too, when you shoved