"My name is..." The man's voice fell to a mumble, obscuring the
syllables. "Frankly I am not yet sure I desire a job here, but being an
engineer, I thought perhaps--"

[Illustration (Tom and Chow fight the intruder)]

The man's gaze switched back to Tom, and in that instant Chow jumped the
intruder. With surprising agility for his rotund bulk, the cook bore
down on him and let fly a gnarled fist at the stranger's jaw. Tom
followed up like lightning, grabbing the man's wrist and yanking his
hand out of his pocket.

He was clutching a snub-nosed automatic. Tom twisted it from his grasp
as the man landed, writhing on the hard ground. Chow quickly pinned his
other arm and drove a knee into the man's solar plexus.

"Jest lie quiet now, you varmint, or you may git yourself roughed up a
bit," Chow warned, then added, "Who is he, Tom?"

"Search me. He stopped my car on the road and forced me to drive him in
through the private gate. Boy, was I ever glad to see you, old-timer!"

Tom emptied out the clip of shells. Then he searched the stranger while
Chow continued holding him down. The man carried no wallet, papers, or
other means of identification.

"Brand my tumbleweed salad," Chow grumbled, "he sure wasn't takin' no
chances on people findin' out who he is! Which proves he's some sort o'
crooked cowpoke! Honest ones ain't afeared o' showin' their own brand!"