t day. Sundown on Monday. He
quickened his pace. His nerves were shaking, and--he wondered in what
direction the river lay. He was consumed with a fierce thirst.

Suddenly his horse threw up its head and pricked its ears. Charlie sat
up, startled, and peered out ahead. The next moment he had reduced his
horse's gait to a walk. He knew where he was, and--he heard a sound
like a distant neigh.

In a moment he was out of the saddle. He tied his horse just inside
the bush and then proceeded on foot. The old corral lay ahead of him.
That corral where he usually kept his wagon, and where the old hut
stood.

He moved rapidly forward, and, as he neared the clearing, he left the
cattle track and took to the bush. That tell-tale sound, his horse's
pricked ears, had aroused his suspicions.

A few moments later he reached the fringe of the clearing. Keeping
himself well hidden, he pressed to the very edge, and peered out from
amid the bush. As he did so he breathed a sigh of thankfulness. Two
horses were tied to the corral fence, and the door of the little old
shack was wide open.

One of the horses he recognized as belonging to Inspector Fyles--the
other didn't matter. So he waited breathlessly, while one hand went to
his coat pocket, an unconscious movement, and rested on the revolver
it found there.

He had not long to wait. The sound of voices reached him presently.
Then they grew louder. And presently he beheld two men appear from
within the hut. Inspector Fyles came first, closely followed by a
half-breed whom he recognized at once. It was Pete--Pete Clancy.

In a moment the waiting man understood. A sort of blind fury mounted
to his brain and set his head swimming. Now, too, his right hand was
withdrawn from his gun pocket, and the weapon was gripped tightly, and
his finger was around the trigger.

But the men were talking, and the watcher strained to catch their
words. He felt he must know. He must know what treachery was afoot,
and how far it affected----

"The game's a pretty bright one," Pete was saying; and the waiting man
ground his teeth as he realized the swagger in the man's tones, and
the grin of triumph on his still scarred features. "Maybe it ain't a
new sort of play, but I guess it ain't none the worse for that. Y'see,
that wagon is kept here right along. It's allers my work runnin' it
back here, and fetchin' it along when it's needed. That's how I know
about things here," he added, with a jerk of th