approaching. He was not exactly
suspicious, but he did not believe in taking unnecessary chances.

"I tell you I'm out of training. Played the last game, haven't we? Come
through with a square meal, you four-flusher," demanded Elliot in a
querulous voice. He turned to Macy. "Look here, Cap. Haven't I played
the game all fall? Don't I get what I want now we're through?"

The voice of the young man was excited. His eyes had lost their quiet
steadiness and roved restlessly to and fro. If Big Bill had held any
doubts one glance dissipated them.

"Sure you do. Hustle over and help Dud with the breakfast, Holt. I'll
look out for our friend."

Elliot and Holt found no more chance to talk together that morning.
Sometimes the young Government official lay staring straight in front
of him. Sometimes he appeared to doze. Again he would talk in the
disjointed way of one not clear in the head.

An opportunity came in the afternoon for a moment.

"Keep your eyes skinned for a chance to lay out the guard to-night and
get his gun," Holt said quickly.

Gordon nodded. "I don't know that I've got to do everything just as you
say," he complained aloud for the benefit of George, who was passing on
his way to the place where the horses were hobbled.

"Now--now! There ain't nobody trying to boss you," Holt explained in a
patient voice.

"They'd better not," snapped the invalid.

"Some scrapper--that kid," said the horse wrangler with a grin.

Macy took the first watch that night. He turned in at two after he had
roused Dud to take his place. The cook had been on duty about an hour
when Elliot kicked Holt, who was sleeping beside him, to make sure that
he was ready. The old man answered the kick with another.

Presently Gordon got up, yawned, and strolled toward the edge of the
camp.

"Don't go and get lost, young fellow," cautioned Dud.

Gordon, on his way back, passed behind the guard, who was sitting tailor
fashion before a smudge with a muley shotgun across his knees.

"This ain't no country for chechakoes to be wandering around without a
keeper," the cook continued. "Looks like your folks would have better
sense than to let their rah-rah boy--"

He got no farther. Elliot dropped to one knee and his strong fingers
closed on the gullet of the man so tightly that not even a groan could
escape him. His feet thrashed to and fro as he struggled, but he could
not shake off the grip that was strangling him. The old miner, wait