"I don't say he did. But it would make no difference to him. He'd steal
any man's stock. Only, I figure some of his friends must 'a' told him
about you--that seen you ridin' down this way. He would know our camp
would be somewhere near this water-hole. What kind of matches you got
with you?"

"Why--this kind." And Bartley produced a few blue-top matches.

"This here is a old-timer sulphur match, cut square. It was right here,
by the rock. Somebody lit a match and laid them dice there--sixes up. No
reg'lar hoss-thief would take that much trouble to advertise himself.
Panhandle done it--and he wanted me to know he done it."

"You've had trouble with him before, haven't you?"

"Yes--and no man can say I ever trailed him. But I never stepped out of
his way."

"Then that crap game in Antelope meant more than an ordinary crap game?"
said Bartley.

"He had his chance," stated Cheyenne.

"Well, we're in a fix," asserted Bartley.

"Yes; we're afoot. But we'll make it. And right here I'm tellin' you
that I aim to shoot a game of craps with Panhandle, usin' these here
dice, that'll be fast and won't last long."

"How about the law?"