here awhile to listen. Again he heard voices. After a time a
shot pealed out. He did not see the flash, but he calculated that it
had come from the north side of the cabins.

The next quarter of an hour discovered to Jean that the nearest guard
was firing from the top of the embankment, perhaps a hundred yards
distant, and a second one was performing the same office from a point
apparently only a few yards farther on. Two rustlers close together!
Jean had not calculated upon that. For a little while he pondered on
what was best to do, and at length decided to crawl round behind them,
and as close as the situation made advisable.

He found the ditch behind the embankment a favorable path by which to
stalk these enemies. It was dry and sandy, with borders of high weeds.
The only drawback was that it was almost impossible for him to keep
from brushing against the dry, invisible branches of the weeds. To
offset this he wormed his way like a snail, inch by inch, taking a long
time before he caught sight of the sitting figure of a man, black
against the dark-blue sky. This rustler had fired his rifle three
times during Jean's slow approach. Jean watched and listened a few
moments, then wormed himself closer and closer, until the man was
within twenty steps of him.

Jean smelled tobacco smoke, but could see no light of pipe or
cigarette, because the fellow's back was turned.

"Say, Ben," said this man to his companion sitting hunched up a few
yards distant, "shore it strikes me queer thet Somers ain't shootin'
any over thar."

Jean recognized the dry, drawling voice of Greaves, and the shock of it
seemed to contract the muscles of his whole thrilling body, like that
of a panther about to spring.

CHAPTER VIII

"Was shore thinkin' thet same," said the other man. "An', say, didn't
thet last shot sound too sharp fer Somers's forty-five?"

"Come to think of it, I reckon it did," replied Greaves.

"Wal, I'll go around over thar an' see."

The dark form of the rustler slipped out of sight over the embankment.

"Better go slow an' careful," warned Greaves. "An' only go close
enough to call Somers.... Mebbe thet damn half-breed Isbel is comin'
some Injun on us."

Jean heard the soft swish of footsteps through wet grass. Then all was
still. He lay flat, with his cheek on the sand, and he had to look
ahead and upward to make out the dark figure of Greaves on the bank.
One way or another he meant to kill G