n Breckenbridge had complied with the last part of the invitation
he found the bare room filled with men. The McLowery boys were there,
two of them, and the Clantons. Half a dozen other outlaws were
lounging about, and Curly Bill himself was looking none too pleasant
as he nodded to the visitor.

"Cain't tell who might come ridin' in these nights," he growled by way
of explanation for his curt welcome. "Set up and eat a bite now yo'
're here."

The lateness of the meal and the general dishevelment of the room's
occupants made it clear to the guest that every one had been riding
hard that day. It was an awkward moment and the constraint endured
long after the last man had shoved back his chair and rolled his
brown-paper cigarette.

Curly Bill found an opportunity to get young Breckenbridge off to one
side during the evening.

"What's on yore mind?" he asked.

The deputy told him.

"The superintendent owns that horse," he explained, "and he's a good
friend of mine. Not only that, but if I get it back it means a whole
lot to the office; it'll put Behan solid with those people over at
Contention, and that helps me."

The outlaw nodded but made no remark by way of comment. Some time
later he sat up at the oilcloth-covered table talking quietly with
Frank McLowery. And Brenckenridge saw McLowery scowling. Then he felt
reasonably sure who had stolen that blooded animal and who was going
to bring it back to Tombstone in the morning.

Bedding-rolls were being unlashed within the half-hour. McLowery
brought Breckenbridge a pair of blankets.

"Reckon you'll have to make down on the floor same as the rest of the
boys," the outlaw growled and then, as if it were an afterthought,
"That there boss yo' 're looking fer is near the ranch."

And that was all the talk there was on the subject during the evening.
But Breckenbridge spread his blankets and lay down among the rustlers
serene in mind. Evidently the horse was going to be in his possession
the next morning.

McLowery's sullenness seemed to have been contagious and there were no
good-nights said to the guest. He knew every man in the room; some of
them he had known ever since that evening when Curly Bill had taken
him to the rustler's camp is the San Simon. But the best he got from
any of them was an averted look; several were scowling openly. Even
Curly Bill had put aside his usual heavy joviality. It was clear that
the burly leader had strained a point in going as