were just across the wash and coming toward her. One rider pointed
in her direction. Silhouetted against the red of the sunset they
made dark and sinister figures. Joan glanced apprehensively at
Roberts. He was staring with a look of recognition in his eyes.
Under his breath he muttered a curse. And although Joan was not
certain, she believed that his face had shaded gray.

The three horsemen halted on the rim of the wash. One of them was
leading a mule that carried a pack and a deer carcass. Joan had seen
many riders apparently just like these, but none had ever so subtly
and powerfully affected her.

"Howdy," greeted one of the men.

And then Joan was positive that the face of Roberts had turned ashen
gray.




2

"It ain't you--KELLS?"

Roberts's query was a confirmation of his own recognition. And the
other's laugh was an answer, if one were needed.

The three horsemen crossed the wash and again halted, leisurely, as
if time was no object. They were all young, under thirty. The two
who had not spoken were rough-garbed, coarse-featured, and resembled