checks on the ride over to Pardo—which Morgan’s intendin’ to make. I ain’t got any love for Morgan, an’ so I took Dolver up.”

“You’re a liar!”

Harlan’s fingers were sinking into Laskar’s shoulder again, and once more the man screamed with pain and impotent fury.

“I swear—” began Laskar.

Harlan’s grin was bitterly contemptuous. He placed the other hand on Laskar’s shoulder and forced the man to look into his eyes.

“You’re a liar, but I’m lettin’ you off. You’re a sneak with Greaser blood in you. I don’t ever want to see you again. I’m goin’ to Lamo—soon as this man Morgan cashes in. I’ll be there some time tomorrow. Lamo wouldn’t please me none if I was to find you there when I ride in. You slope, now—an’ keep on hittin’ the breeze until there ain’t no more of it. I’d blow you apart if this man Morgan was anything to me. But it ain’t my game unless I see you again.”

He watched until Laskar, still holding his chest, walked to where the two horses were concealed, and mounted one of them. When Laskar, leaning over the pommel of the saddle, had grown dim in the haze that was settling over the desert, Harlan scowled and returned to the wounded man.

To his astonishment, Morgan was conscious—and a cold calmness seemed to have come over him. His eyes were filled with a light that told of complete knowledge and resignation. He half smiled as Harlan knelt beside him.

“I’m about due, I reckon,” he said. “I heard you talkin’ to the man you just let get away. It don’t make any difference—about him. I reckon he was just a tool, anyway. There’s someone behind this bigger than Dolver an’ that man Laskar. He didn’t tell you?”

Harlan shook his head negatively, watching the other intently.

“I didn’t reckon he would,” said Morgan. “But there’s somebody.” He gazed long into Harlan’s face, and the latter gazed steadily back at him. He seemed to be searching Harlan’s face for signs of character.

Harlan stood the probing glance well—so that at last Morgan smiled, saying slowly: “It’s funny—damned funny. About faces, I mean. Your reputation—it’s bad. I’ve been hearin’ about you for a couple of years now. An’ I’ve been lookin’ at you an’ tryin’ to make myself say, ‘Yes, he’s the kind of a guy which would do the things they say he’s done.’

“I can’t make myself say it; I can’t even make myself think it. Either you’re a mighty good actor, or you’re the worst-judged man I ever met. Which is it?”

“Mostly all of us get reputations we don’t deserve,” said Harlan lowly.

Morgan’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Meanin’ that you don’t deserve yours?” he said.

“I reckon there’s been a heap of lyin’ goin’ on about me.”

For a long time Morgan watched the other, studying him. The long twilight of the desert descended and found them—Morgan staring at Harlan; the latter enduring the gaze—for he knew that the end would not long be delayed.

At last Morgan sighed.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve got to take a chance on you. An’, somehow, it seems to me that I ain’t takin’ much of a chance, either. For a man that’s supposed to be the hell-raisin’ outlaw that folks say you are, you’ve got the straightest eyes I ever seen. I’ve seen killers—an’ outlaws, an’ gun-fighters, an’ I never seen one that could look at a man like you’ve looked at me. Harlan,” he went on slowly, “I’m goin’ to tell you about some gold I’ve hid—a hundred thousand dollars!”

Keenly, suspicion lurking deep in his eyes, his mouth half open, seemingly ready to snap shut the instant he detected greed or cupidity in Harlan’s eyes, he watched the latter.

It seemed that he expected Harlan to betray a lust for the gold he had mentioned; and he was ready to close his lips and to die with his secret. And when he saw that apparently Harlan was unmoved, that he betrayed, seemingly, not the slightest interest, that even his eyelids did not flicker at his words, nor his face change color—Morgan drew a tremulous sigh.

“You’ve got me guessin’,” he confessed weakly. “I don’t know whether you’re a devil or a saint.”

“I ain’t claimin’ nothin’,” said Harlan. “An’ I ain’t carin’ a damn about your gold. I’d a heap rather you wouldn’t mention it. More than one man has busted his character chasin’ that rainbow.”

“You ain’t interested?” demanded Morgan.

“Not none.”

Morgan’s eyes glowed with an eager light. For now that Harlan betrayed lack of interest, Morgan was convinced—almost—that the man’s reputation for committing evil deeds had been exaggerated.

“You’ve got to be interested,” he declared, lifting himself on his good arm and leaning toward Harlan. “It ain’t the gold that is botherin’ me so much, anyway—it’s my daughter.

“It’s all my own fault, too,” he went on when he saw Harlan’s eyes quicken. “I’ve felt all along that somethin’ was wrong, but I didn’t have sense enough to look into it. An’ now, trustin’ folks so much, an’ not payin’ strict attention to what was goin’ on around me, I’ve got to the point where I’ve got to put everything into the hands of a man I never saw before—an outlaw.”

“There ain’t nobody crowdin’ you to put anything into his hands,” sneered Harlan. “I ain’t a heap anxious to go around buttin’ into trouble for you. Keep your yap shut, an’ die like a man!”

Morgan laughed, almost triumphantly. “I’ll do my dyin’ like a man, all right—don’t be afraid of that. You want to hear what I’ve got to tell you?”

“I’ve got to listen. Shoot!”

“There’s a gang of outlaws operatin’ in the Lamo country. Luke Deveny is the chief. It’s generally known that Deveny’s the boss, but he keeps his tracks pretty well covered, an’ Sheriff Gage ain’t been able to get anything on him. Likely Gage is scared of him, anyway.

“Anyway, Gage don’t do nothin’. Deveny’s a bad man with a gun; there ain’t his equal in the Territory. He’s got a fellow that runs with him—Strom Rogers—who’s almost as good as he is with a gun. They’re holy terrors; they’ve got the cattlemen for two hundred miles around eatin’ out of their hands. They’re roarin’, rippin’ devils!

“There ain’t no man knows how big their gang is—seems like half the people in the Lamo country must belong to it. There’s spies all around; there ain’t a thing done that the outlaws don’t seem to know of it. They drive stock off right in front of the eyes of the owners; they rob the banks in the country; they drink an’ kill an’ riot without anyone interferin’.

“There ain’t anyone knows where their hang-out is—no one seems to know anything about them, except that they’re on hand when there’s any devilment to be done.

“I’ve got to talk fast, for I ain’t got long. I’ve never had any trouble with Deveny or Rogers, or any of the rest of them, because I’ve always tended to my own business. I’ve seen the thing gettin’ worse an’ worse, though; an’ I ought to have got out of there when I had a chance. Lately there ain’t been no chance. They watch me like a hawk. I can’t trust my men. The Rancho Seco is a mighty big place, an’ I’ve got thirty men workin’ for me. But I can’t trust a damned one of them.

“About a year ago I found some gold in the Cisco Mountains near the ranch. It was nugget gold—only a pocket. I packed it home, lettin’ nobody see me doin’ it; an’ I got it all hid in the house,