the back of his horse at Bill.

The keeper of the stable and the young man were still busy doctoring the
sore when Curly arrived with Warren. The buyer was a roundbodied man with
black gimlet eyes that saw much he never told. The bargain he drove was a
hard one, but it did not take long to come to terms at about one-third the
value of the string he was purchasing. Very likely he had his suspicions,
but he did not voice them. No doubt they cut a figure in the price. He let
it be understood that he was a supply agent for the rebels in Mexico.
Before the bills were warm in the pockets of the sellers, his vaqueros
were mounted and were moving the remuda toward the border.

Curly and Mac helped them get started. As they rode back to the corral a
young man came out from the stable. Flandrau forgot that there were
reasons why he wanted just now to be a stranger in the land with his
identity not advertised. He let out a shout.

"Oh you, Slats Davis!"

"Hello, Curly! How are things a-comin'?"

"Fine. When did you blow in to Saguache? Ain't you off your run some?"

They had ridden the range together and had frolicked around on a dozen
boyish larks. Their ways had suited each other and they had been a good
deal more than casual bunkies. To put it mildly the meeting was likely to
prove embarrassing.

"Came down to see about getting some cows for the old man from the
Fiddleback outfit," Davis explained. "Didn't expect to bump into friends
'way down here. You riding for the Bar Double M?"

There was a momentary silence. Curly's vigilant eyes met those of his old
side partner. What did Slats know? Had he been in the stable while the
remuda was still in the corral? Had he seen them with Bad Bill and
Blackwell? Were his suspicions already active?

"No, I'm riding for the Map of Texas," Flandrau answered evenly.

"Come on, Curly. Let's go feed our faces," Mac called from the stable.

Flandrau nodded. "You still with the Hashknife?" he asked Davis.

"Still with 'em. I've been raised to assistant foreman."

"Bully for you. That's great. All right, Mac. I'm coming. That's sure
great, old hoss. Well, see you later, Slats."

Flandrau followed Mac, dissatisfied with himself for leaving his friend so
cavalierly. In the old days they had told each other everything, had
talked things out together before many a campfire. He guessed Slats would
be hurt, but he had to think of his partners in this enterprise.

After supper they took