him.

Half-dazed, Pete followed doggedly, but the horse started to run. Pete
staggered back to the hitching-rail, untied the end of the broken rein
and tossed it across the street. He did not know why he did this; he
simply did it mechanically.

He was again afoot, weak and exhausted from his night's ride. "I
reckon that ole Mexican woman--was right," he muttered. "But I got one
pardner yet, anyhow," and his hand slid to his holster. "You and me
ag'in' the whole dam' town! God, it's hot."

He slumped to the corner of the saloon and squatted, leaning against
the wall. He thought of Boca. He could hear her speak his name
distinctly. A shadow drifted across his blurred vision. He glanced
up. The Spider, naked to the waist, stood looking down at him, leanly
grotesque in the dawn light.

"You 're going strong!" said The Spider.

"I want Malvey," whispered Pete.

The Spider's lips twitched. "You'll get some coffee and beans first.
Any man that's got enough sand to foot it from Flores here--can camp on
me _any_ time--coming or going."

"I'm workin' this case myself," stated Pete sullenly.

"You play your own hand," said The Spider. And for once he meant it.
He could scarcely believe that Young Pete had made it across the desert
on foot--yet there was no horse in sight. If Young Pete could force
himself to such a pace and survive he would become a mighty useful tool.

"Did Malvey play you?" queried The Spider.

"You ought to know."

"He said you were sick--down at Flores's rancho."

"Then he's here!" And Pete's dulling eyes brightened. "Well, I ain't
as sick as he's goin' to be, Spider."

CHAPTER XXIV

"A RIDER STOOD AT THE LAMPLIT BAR"

Pete was surprised to find the darkened saloon cooler than the open
desert, even at dawn; and he realized, after glancing about, that The
Spider had closed the doors and windows during the night to shut out
the heat.

"In here," said The Spider, opening the door back of the bar.

Pete followed, groping his way into The Spider's room. He started back
as a match flared. The Spider lighted a lamp. In the sudden soft glow
Pete beheld a veritable storehouse of plunder: gorgeous serapes from
Old Mexico--blankets from Tehuantepec and Oaxaca, rebosas of woven silk
and linen and wool, the cruder colorings of the Navajo and Hopi
saddle-blankets, war-bags and buckskin garments heavy with the beadwork
of the Utes and Blackfeet, a buffalo-hide shield, an Apac