rustle of flame, and then a steady growing roar.

As it chanced, Dale lay face down upon the floor of the
loft, and right near his eyes there were cracks between the
boughs. When the fire blazed up he was fairly well able to
see the men below. The only one he had ever seen was Jim
Wilson, who had been well known at Pine before Snake Anson
had ever been heard of. Jim was the best of a bad lot, and
he had friends among the honest people. It was rumored that
he and Snake did not pull well together.

"Fire feels good," said the burly Moze, who appeared as
broad as he was black-visaged. "Fall's sure a-comin'. . .
Now if only we had some grub!"

"Moze, there's a hunk of deer meat in my saddle-bag, an' if
you git it you can have half," spoke up another voice.

Moze shuffled out with alacrity.

In the firelight Snake Anson's face looked lean and
serpent-like, his eyes glittered, and his long neck and all
of his long length carried out the analogy of his name.

"Snake, what's this here deal with Beasley?" inquired Jim.

"Reckon you'll l'arn when I do," replied the leader. He
appeared tired and thoughtful.

"Ain't we done away with enough of them poor greaser herders