With his arm outflung the tramp staggered up to the foreman. "I come
back--to tell you--that I'm going to live to get you right. I got a
hunch that all hell can't beat out. I'll get you!"

"We won't have any trouble," said Waring.

High Chin whirled his horse round. "What's it to you? Who are you,
buttin' in on this?"

"My name is Waring. I used to mill around Sonora once."

High Chin blinked. He knew that name. Slowly he realized that the man on
the big buckskin meant what he said when he asserted that there would be
no trouble.

"Well, I'm foreman of the Starr, and you're fired!" he told Lorry.

"That's no news," said Lorry, grinning.

"And I'm goin' to herd this hoss-thief to camp," he continued, spurring
toward Waco, who had started to walk away.

"Not this journey," said Waring, pushing his horse between them. "The
boy don't pack a gun. I do."

"You talk big--knowin' I got no gun," said High Chin.

Lorry rode over to the foreman. "Here's your gun, High. I ain't no
killer."