ward,
eyeing Andy so narrowly that the cowboy paused in his narrative.

"What's the matter, Jim?" he asked; "Bill didn't take any of them
thousand-dollar things from you, did he?"

"Mebbe not, and mebbe so," enigmatically answered the half-breed. "Go on
and tell me the rest."

When he had completed his story of the robbery at Talpers's store, Andy
tilted his enormous sombrero over his eyes, and, leaning back in the
shade, fell asleep. The half-breed worked silently about the camp,
occasionally going to a near-by knoll and looking about for some sign of
life in the sagebrush. He made some biscuits and coffee and fried some
bacon, after which he touched Andy none too gently with his moccasined
foot and told the cowboy to sit up and eat something.

After one or two ineffectual efforts to start conversation, the visitor
gave up in disgust. The meal was eaten in silence. Even the obtuse Andy
sensed that something was wrong, and made no effort to rouse the
half-breed, who ate grimly and immediately busied himself with the
dish-washing as soon as the meal was over. Andy soon took his departure,
the half-breed directing him to a route that would lessen the chances of
his discovery by the Indian police.

After Andy had gone the half-breed turned his attention to the bottle
which had been sent by Talpers. He visited the knoll occasionally, but
nothing alive could be discerned in the great wastes of sage. When the
shadows deepened and the chill of evening came down from the high
altitudes of the near-by peaks, McFann staked out his ponies in better
grazing ground. Then he built a small camp-fire, and, sitting
cross-legged in the light, he smoked and drank, and meditated upon the
perfidy of Bill Talpers.

McFann was astir at dawn, and there was determination in every move as
he brought in the horses and began to break camp.

The half-breed owned a ranch which had come down to him from his Indian
mother. Shrewdly suspecting that the police had ceased watching the
ranch, Jim made his way homeward. His place was located in the
bottom-land along a small creek. There was a shack on it, but no attempt
at cultivation. As he looked the place over, Jim's thoughts became more
bitter than ever. If he had farmed this land, the way the agent wanted
him to, he could have been independent by now, but instead of that he
had listened to Talpers's blandishments and now had been thrown down by
his professed friend!

Jim took off his pack an