a chance for success. If luck held in their favor--and Kid said
after the run of misfortune they had met with it was time for a change
of weather--they might hope for a rich prize--possibly Delton
himself--though this last did not seem likely. The whole success of
the plan depended on fooling the smugglers into thinking the ranch was
still held by Delton.

"And there we are," finished Hawkins. "Any questions, boys? You-all
know what to do?"

"All set!" Yellin' Kid answered. "Now that's over with, guess I'll
mosey down to town."

"Rather you stayed around, Kid, if you don't mind," said the deputy.
"Anything particular you wanted?"

"Well, just to see about that bronc you mentioned. And we got to get
hold of a sheepman soon."

"I'll fix that up for you," Hawkins offered. "Dick, how about you
riding back with me?"

"Glad to, Mr. Hawkins. Anybody want anything?"

"Better find out about food," suggested Nort. "And we could all stand
a clean shirt or two. Before you go, Dick, we all better take
inventory. Didn't bring much, you know. What do you say, boys? Speak
up, and Dick can collect your stuff while he's in town."

"Where's that Mex?" the Kid asked. "Wait a minute while I head for the
kitchen."

He bounded up the steps and flung open the door. To his surprise a
figure stumbled away and ran back. But Yellin' Kid was faster, and in
a moment he had collared the man. It was the Mexican cook.

"Hey, what the mischief you doin' here? Huh? Listening weren't you?"

The Mexican shook his head.

"What, then? If you weren't listenin' what were you doin'?"

The cook pointed toward the kitchen and then to his mouth. He spread
both hands, palms upward.

"No more grub? Oh, I see. An' you was comin' to tell us?"

"What's the matter, Kid?" the deputy called. "Who you talking to?"

The Kid dragged the Mexican out into the yard.

"This bird," he said. "Cook. The one we found here. He was hidin'
behind the door--wants me to believe he came out to tell us there was
no more eats. Why you run, hey? What's the idea of that?" He
tightened his grip on the Mexican's collar.

"Oh, let the poor Greaser alone, Kid," Bud objected. "He's all right.
Just scared, that's all. The way you jerked open the door was enough
to scare anyone."

"Yea? Maybe. Anyway, I don't like this coot's looks. Back you go,
Mex. Next time don't be snoopin' around like that. We'll get your
stuff for you." He release