Neither man moved, but the one below swung about so as to face them, one
hand thrust out of sight beneath the tail of his long coat.

"Make him throw up his hands, Bob," he said sharply.

"Oh, I reckon thar ain't goin' ter be no trouble," returned the marshal
genially, yet with no relaxation of attention. "Keith knows me, an'
expects a fair deal. Still, maybe I better ask yer to unhitch yer belt,
Jack."

A moment Keith seemed to hesitate, plainly puzzled by the situation and
endeavoring to see some way of escape; then his lips smiled, and he
silently unhooked the belt, handing it over.

"Sure, I know you're square, Hicks," he said, coolly. "And now I've
unlimbered, kindly inform me what this is all about."

"I reckon yer don't know."

"No more than an unborn babe. I have been here but an hour."

"That's it: if yer had been longer thar wouldn't be no trouble. Yo're
wanted for killin' a couple o' men out at Cimmaron Crossin' early
yesterday mornin'."

Keith stared at him too completely astounded for the instant to even
speak. Then he gasped.

"For God's sake, Hicks, do you believe that?"