obsequious. His chief was dressed for a long journey.
It had been many years since The Spider had ridden so far from
Showdown. Something portentous was about to happen, or had happened.

Flores's wife, however, showed no surprise, but accepted The Spider's
presence in her usual listless manner. To her he addressed himself as
she made coffee and placed a chair for him. They talked of Boca---and
once The Spider spoke of Boca's mother, whom the Senora Flores had
known in Mexico.

Old Flores fed The Spider's horse, meanwhile wondering what had drawn
the chief from the security of his web. He concluded that The Spider
was fleeing from some danger---the law, perhaps, or from some ancient
grudge that had at last found him out to harry him into the desert, a
hunted man and desperate. The Mexican surmised that The Spider had
money with him, perhaps all his money--for local rumor had it that The
Spider possessed great wealth. And of course he would sleep there that
night . . .

Upon returning to the 'dobe Flores was told by The Spider to say
nothing of having seen him. This confirmed the old Mexican's suspicion
that The Spider had fled from danger. And Flores swore by the saints
that none should know, while The Spider listened and his thin lips
twitched.

"You'd knife me in my bed for less than half the money on me," he told
Flores.

The Mexican started back, as though caught in the very act, and whined
his allegiance to The Spider. Had he not always been faithful?

"No," said The Spider, "but the senora has."

Flores turned and shuffled toward the corral. The Spider, standing in
the doorway of the 'dobe, spoke to Flores's wife over his shoulder: "If
I don't show up before next Sunday, senora, get your man to take you to
Showdown. Juan will give you the money, and the things I left up
there."

"You will not come back," said the Mexican woman.

"Don't know but that you are right--but you needn't tell Flores that."

An hour later The Spider had Flores bring up his horse. He mounted and
turned to glance round the place. He shrugged his shoulders. In a few
minutes he was lost to sight on the trail south which ran along the
canon-bed.

That night he arrived at Baxter, weary and stiff from his long ride.
He put his horse in the livery-stable and paid for its keep in
advance--"a week," he said, and "I'll be back."

Next morning he boarded the local for El Paso. He sat in the
smoking-compartment, gazing o