Jim Wilson whistled low.

"An' leave for new territory?" repeated Snake Anson, under
his breath.

"You've said it."

"Wal, I ain't fancyin' the girl end of this deal, but you
can count on me. . . . September sixteenth at Magdalena --
an' her name's Helen -- an' she's handsome?"

"Yes. My herders will begin drivin' south in about two
weeks. Later, if the weather holds good, send me word by one
of them an' I'll meet you."

Beasley spread his hands once more over the blaze, pulled on
his gloves and pulled down his sombrero, and with an abrupt
word of parting strode out into the night.

"Jim, what do you make of him?" queried Snake Anson.

"Pard, he's got us beat two ways for Sunday," replied
Wilson.

"A-huh! . . . Wal, let's get back to camp." And he led the
way out.

Low voices drifted into the cabin, then came snorts of
horses and striking hoofs, and after that a steady trot,
gradually ceasing. Once more the moan of wind and soft