"Mebby. I don't know."

"How much did he leave for me?"

"Five a day, as I said."

"Oh, you go to hell!"

The sheriff smiled pleasantly. "Nope, Billy! I'm goin' to stay right
to home. Have a cigar?"

The young man refused the proffered cigar, picked up the gold-piece and
strolled out.

The sheriff leaned back in his chair. "Well if Billy feels that way
toward folks, reckon he won't get far with John, or anybody else. Too
dinged bad. He used to be a good kid."




CHAPTER VII

FADEAWAY'S HAND

Fadeaway, one of the Concho riders, urged his cayuse through the ford,
reined short, and turned to watch Chance, who accompanied him. The dog
drew back from the edge of the stream and bunching himself, shot up and
over the muddy water, nor did the jump break his stride as he leaped to
overtake the rider, who had spurred out of his way. Fadeaway cursed