rew him down to a walk.
There was a horseman on the trail, some thirty or forty yards ahead.
He had just caught sight of his dim outline against the starlit sky
line. It was only for a moment. But it was sufficient for his trained
eyes. He had detected the upper part of the man's body, and the
shadowy outline of a wide-brimmed prairie hat.

Now, as Peter moved at that shuffling, restful amble which all prairie
horses acquire, he leaned down over the horn of his saddle and peered
ahead. The man was sitting stock still upon his horse.

Instinctively Fyles's hand went to his revolver, and remained there.
When a man waits upon a western trail at night, it is as well that the
traveler take no undue chances, particularly when he be one of the
none too well loved red coats.

The policeman kept on. He displayed no hesitation. Finally he drew his
horse to a standstill with its nose almost touching the shoulder of
the stranger's horse.

Fyles was peering forward in the darkness, and his revolver was in
that position which, all unseen, kept its muzzle directly leveled at
the horseman's middle.

"Kind of lonesome sitting around here at night," he said, with a
keenly satirical inflection.

"You can put up your darn gun, inspector," came the startling
response. "Guess I had you covered from way back there, if I'd had a
notion to shoot. Guess I ain't in the 'hold-up' bizness. But I've been
waiting for you--anyway."

The man's assurance had no effect upon the policeman. The latter
pressed his horse up closer, and peered into the other's face. The
face he beheld startled him, although he gave no outward sign.

"Ah, Pete--Pete Clancy," he said quietly. "Guess my gun's always
pretty handy. It won't hurt where it is, unless I want it to. It's
liable to be more effective than your's would have been--way back
there."

The man seemed to resign himself.

"Guess it don't pay shootin' up red coats," he said, with a rough
laugh.

"No." Then in a moment Fyles put a sharp question. "You are waiting
for--me? Why?"

Pete laughed, but his laugh was uneasy.

"Because I'm sick to death being agin the law."

"Ah. Been taking a hand building the church back there?" The sarcasm
was unmistakable, but it passed the other by.

"Ben takin' a hand in most things--back there."

"Sure. Find some of 'em don't pay?"

The man shook his head.

"Guess they pay--mostly. 'Tain't that."

"What then?"

"Sort o' feel it's time to quit--bizness.