They urged their horses away from the edge of the gully. Sanderson could
hear the clatter of hoofs, receding. He had heard, plainly, all the
conversation between the two.

There was a grin of slight relief on Sanderson's face. The men were not
aiming at him, but at the first rider. It was clear that all were
concerned in a personal quarrel which was no concern of Sanderson's. It
was also apparent to Sanderson that the two men who had halted at the
edge of the arroyo were not of the type that contributed to the peace and
order of the country.

Plainly, they were of the lower strata of riffraff which had drifted into
the West to exact its toll from a people who could not claim the
protection of a law that was remote and impotent.

Sanderson suspected that the first rider had been concerned in some
lawless transaction with the other two, and that the first rider had
decamped with the entire spoils. That much was indicated by the words of
the two. Dire punishment for the first man was imminent.

Sanderson had no sympathy for the first rider. He felt, though, a slight
curiosity over the probable outcome of the affair, and so, working
rapidly, he broke camp, threw saddle and bridle on the white horse,
strapped his slicker to the cantle of the saddle, and rode the brown
horse up the slope of the arroyo, taking the direction in which the three
men had disappeared.