only had Overland's name been mentioned in the bunk-house.
Saunders, discussing horses and riders in general, listened to Collie's
account of Overland's escape from the deputy, Tenlow. Then he spoke
slightingly of the feat, claiming that any man who had ever ridden range
could do as much, with the right pony.

Brand Williams tried to change the subject, for shrewd reasons of his
own, but Collie flamed up instantly. "I got a little saved up," he said;
"mebby eight hundred. She's yours if you dast to walk a horse, comin' or
goin', over that drift that Red took on the jump. Are you game?"

"I'm not on the bet," replied Saunders. "So Overland Red is a friend of
yours, eh?"

"Overland Red could ride where you dassent to walk and drag a halter,"
asserted Collie. Then he relapsed to silence, a little ashamed in that
he had been trapped into showing temper.

Williams the taciturn astonished the bunk-house by adding: "The kid is
right. Red could outride most men. I was his pal once, down in Sonora.
There ain't a better two-gun artist livin'." And the lean foreman looked
pointedly at Saunders.

Saunders smiled evilly. He had reason to believe that Williams had
spoken the truth.

* * * * *

A few weeks later, Williams, returning unexpectedly to the bunk-house,
found Saunders changing his shirt preparatory to a ride to town. The
rest of the boys were already on their way to the Oro Rancho across the
valley. Williams saw two puckered scars, each above the elbow on
Saunders's bared arms.

"That was dam' good shootin'," said the foreman, indicating the other's
scarred arms.

"Fair," said Saunders gruffly.

"Takes a gun-artist to put a man out of business that way and not finish
him," said Williams, smiling.

"Cholo mix-up," said Saunders.

"And shootin' from the ground, at that," continued Williams. "And at a
fella on a horse. Easy to see that, for the both holes are slantin' up.
The shootin' was done from below."

Saunders flushed. He was about to speak when Williams interrupted him.
"Makes me think of some of Overland Red's--that is, old Red Jack
Summers's fancy work. I don' know why," he drawled, and turning he left
the bunk-house.

Collie, returning from a visit to the Oro Rancho that evening, was met
by Williams. The latter was on foot.

"Drop into my shack after dark," said the foreman. Then he stepped back
into the bushes as the other men rode up.

The foreman's interview wi