f his shoulders.
"He's planted out there. You said so."

"That's all right, Spider. We made a mistake. This is the man we
want."

"Then who is planted out there?" queried The Spider in a soft,
sing-song voice, high-pitched and startling.

"That's our business," stated the deputy.

"No--mine!" The Spider glanced past the deputy, who turned to face a
Mexican standing in the doorway. The Mexican's hands were held belt
high and they were both "filled."

"Get the first man that moves," said The Spider in Mexican. And as he
spoke his own hand flashed to his armpit, and out again like the stroke
of a snake. Behind his gun gleamed a pair of black, beady eyes, as
cold as the eyes of a rattler. The deputy read his own doom and the
death of at least two of his men should he move a muscle. He had Young
Pete covered and could have shot him down; Pete was unarmed. The
deputy lowered his gun.

Pete blinked and drew a deep breath. "Give me a gun, Spider--and we'll
shoot it out with 'em, right here."

The Spider laughed. "No. You're planted out there. These gents say
so. I'm working this layout."

"Put up your gun, Ed," said the chief, addressing the deputy who had
The Spider covered. "He's fooled us, proper."

"Let 'em out, one at a time," and The Spider gestured to the Mexican,
Manuelo. "And tell your friends," he continued, addressing the chief
deputy, "that Showdown is run peaceful _and that I run her_."

When they were gone The Spider turned to Pete. "Want to ride back to
Concho?"

Pete, who had followed The Spider to the saloon, did not seem to hear
the question. Manuelo was already sweeping out with a broom which he
had dipped in a water-bucket--as casually busy as though he had never
had a gun in his hand. Something in the Mexican's supreme indifference
touched Pete's sense of humor. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Who's goin' to tell her father?" he queried, gesturing toward the
inner room.

"He knows," said The Spider, who stood staring at the Mexican.

"You're drunk," said Pete.

"Maybe I'm drunk," echoed The Spider. "But I'm her father."

Pete stepped forward and gazed into The Spidery scarred and lined face.
"Hell!" Then he thrust out his hand. "Spider, I reckon I'll throw in
with you."

CHAPTER XXVI

THE OLLA

The Spider's system of bookkeeping was simple, requiring neither pen
nor paper, journal nor day-book. He kept a kind of mental loose-leaf
ledger with considerabl