-- for nothin'?" queried the youngest of the gang, a boy in
years, whose hard, bitter lips and hungry eyes somehow set
him apart from his comrades.

"You're dead right, Burt -- an' that's my stand," replied
the man who had sent Moze out. "Snake, snow 'll be flyin'
round these woods before long," said Jim Wilson. "Are we
goin' to winter down in the Tonto Basin or over on the
Gila?"

"Reckon we'll do some tall ridin' before we strike south,"
replied Snake, gruffly.

At the juncture Moze returned.

"Boss, I heerd a hoss comin' up the trail," he said.

Snake rose and stood at the door, listening. Outside the
wind moaned fitfully and scattering raindrops pattered upon
the cabin.

"A-huh!" exclaimed Snake, in relief.

Silence ensued then for a moment, at the end of which
interval Dale heard a rapid clip-clop on the rocky trail
outside. The men below shuffled uneasily, but none of the
spoke. The fire cracked cheerily. Snake Anson stepped back
from before the door with an action that expressed both
doubt and caution.