uliar walk--and the portly Mexican, up from the south because
certain financial interests had backed him politically were becoming
decidedly uncertain, named a name, not loudly, but distinctly and with
peculiar emphasis. The Spider heard, but did not heed nor hurry. A
black-shawled Mexican woman carrying a baby blundered into the portly
Mexican. He shoved her roughly aside. She cursed him for a pig who
robbed the poor--for he was known to most Mexicans--and he so far
forgot his dignity and station as to curse her heartily in return. The
Spider meanwhile was lost in the crowd that banked the station platform.

El Paso had grown--was not the El Paso of The Spider's earlier days,
and for a brief while he forgot his mission in endeavoring mentally to
reconstruct the old town as he had known it. Arrived at the Plaza he
turned and gazed about. "Number two," he said to himself, recalling
the portly Mexican--and the voice. He shrugged his shoulders.

His request to see the president of the Stockmen's Bank was borne
hesitatingly to that individual's private office, the messenger
returning promptly with instructions to "show the gentleman in."

Contrary to all precedent the president, Hodges, was not portly, but a
man almost as lean as The Spider himself; a quick, nervous man,
forceful and quite evidently "self-made."

"Sit down, Jim."

The Spider pulled up a chair. "About that last deposit--"

The president thrust his hand into a pigeon-hole and handed The Spider
a slip of paper.

"So he got here with the cash before they nailed him?" And The Spidery
face expressed surprise.

"The money came by express--local shipment. I tried to keep it out of
the papers. None of their dam' business."

"I'm going to close my account," stated The Spider.

"Going south?"

"No. I got some business in town. After that--"

"You mean you've got _no_ business in town. Why didn't you write?"

"You couldn't handle it. Figure up my credit--and give me a draft for
it, I'll give you my check. Make it out to Peter Annersley," said The
Spider.

"One of your gunmen, eh? I see by the papers he's got a poor chance of
using this."

"So have I," and The Spider almost smiled.

Hodges pushed back his chair. "See here, Jim. You've got no business
in this town and you know it! And you've got enough money to keep you
comfortable anywhere--South America, for instance. Somebody'll spot
you before you've been here twenty-four hou