e
hill beyond, and heard, straight away before them, the faint pop-pop of
rifle shots. Old Applehead turned and sent them a blazing blue glance
over his shoulders.

"RIDE, dang ye!" he barked. "They've got Luck cornered in the Devil's
Fryin'-pan!"

CHAPTER XVIII. IN THE DEVIL'S FRYING-PAN

Luck, riding confidently on the trail of the three horsemen who had
taken to the south along the front of the square butte, believed that
the turn of the trail around the southern end meant simply that the
three who came this way would meet their companions on the other side,
and that he, following after, would be certain to meet Applehead. He had
hopes of the speedy capture of Ramon Chavez and his men, and the
hope spread to the four who went with him, so that their spirits rose
considerably. Big Medicine and Happy Jack even found a good deal of
amusement in their exchange of opinions regarding old granny Applehead
and his constant fear of the Navvies. Now and then the Native Son joined
in the laugh, though his attention was chiefly given to the discussion
Andy and Luck were having about Ramon and his manner of using Luck's
work as an opportunity to rob the bank, and the probable effect it would
have on the general standing of Luck and his company unless they managed
to land the thieves in jail. Being half Mexican himself, the Native Son
was sensitive upon the subject of Ramon, and almost as anxious to see
Ramon in jail as was Luck himself.

So while Applehead and his boys were scenting danger and then finding
themselves in the middle of it, Luck and his party rode along absorbed
in themselves and in the ultimate goal, which was Ramon. They saw
nothing queer about the trail they followed, and they saw no evidence
of treachery anywhere. They rode with the rifles slung under their
right thighs and their six-shooters at their hips, and their eyes roving
casually over their immediate surroundings while their minds roved
elsewhere--not because they were growing careless, but because there was
absolutely nothing to rouse their suspicions, now that they no longer
bad Applehead along to preach danger and keep them keyed up to expect
it.

They followed the tracks through a scattered grove of stunted pinons,
circled at fault for a few minutes in the rocks beyond, and then picked
up the trail. They were then in the narrow neck which was called
the handle of the Devil's Frying-pan--and they would have ridden
unsuspectingly into the ve