"But every man has his price,"--and Waring smiled. "I'll make my offer; a hundred, cash."

"Not this evenin'," said the cowboy.

Waring felt in the pocket of his flannel shirt. "I'll go you one better.

I'll make it a hundred, cash, and this to boot." And his arm straightened.

Pete started back. Waring's hand was on the table, the fingers closed.

His fingers slowly opened, and a crumpled piece of paper lay in his palm. The cowboy's lips tightened. His eyes shifted from Waring to Starr, and then back again.

Mrs. Starr, who could not understand the strange silence of the men, breathed hard and wiped her forehead with her ap.r.o.n.

"Read it!" said Waring sharply.

The cowboy took the piece of paper, and, spreading it out, glanced at it hurriedly.

"This ain't for me," he a.s.serted.

"Did you ever see it before?"

"This? No. What have I got to do with the sheriff's office?"

"Pete," said Waring, drawing back his hand, "you had better read that note again."

"Why, I--Pete can't read," said Mrs. Starr. "He can spell out printed reading some, but not writing."

"Then how did you know this paper was from the sheriff's office?"

queried Waring.

The cowboy half rose.

"Sit down!" thundered Waring. "Who sent you with a note to Pat last Wednesday?"

"Who said anybody sent me?"

"Don't waste time! I say so. That broken shoe your cayuse cast says so, for I trailed him from my ranch to the line fence. And you have said so yourself. This paper is not from the sheriff's office. It's a tax receipt."

The cowboy's face went white.

"Honest, so help me, Mr. Waring, I didn't know the Brewster boys was after Pat. Bob he give me the paper. Said it was from the sheriff, and I was to give it to Pat if you weren't around."

"And if I happened to be around?"

"I was to wait until you was out with the fence gang--"

"How did you know I would be out with them?"

"Bob Brewster told me you would be."

Waring folded the piece of paper and tore it across.

"Starr," he said, turning to the old cattleman, "you have heard and seen what has happened since we sat down." And Waring turned on the cowboy.

"How much did Bob Brewster give you for this work?"

"I was to get fifty dollars if I put it through."

"And you put it through! You knew it was crooked. And you call yourself a man! And you took a letter to Pat that called him out to be shot down by that coyote! Do you know that Pat's gun was loaded when I found it; that he didn't have a chance?"

Waring's face grew suddenly old. He leaned back wearily.

"I wonder just how you feel?" he said presently. "If I had done a trick like that I'd take a gun and blow my brains out. G.o.d, I'd rather be where Pat is than have to carry your load the rest of my life! But you're yellow clean through, and Bob Brewster knew it and hired you. Now you will take that lame cayuse and ride north just as quick as you can throw a saddle on him. And when you go,"--and Waring rose and pointed toward the doorway,--"forget the way back to this country."

The cowboy shuffled his feet and picked up his hat. Starr got up stiffly and limped to his room. He came out with a check, which he gave to the cowboy.

Waring pushed back his chair as though to step round the table and follow the cowboy, but he hesitated, and finally sat down.

"I'm sorry it happened this way, Mrs. Starr," he said.

"It's awful! And one of our men!"

"That's not your fault, Mrs. Starr."

Starr fumbled along the clock shelf, found his pipe, and lighted it. He sat down near Waring as Mrs. Starr began to clear away the dishes.

"If I can do anything to help run down that white-livered skunk--"

"You can, Jasper. Just keep it to yourself that I have been here. Pete left of his own accord. I don't want the Brewster boys to know I'm out on their trail."

Starr nodded and glanced at his wife. "I looked to see you kill him," he said, gesturing toward the doorway.

"What! That poor fool? I thought you knew me better, Jasper."

Chapter XIX

_The Fight in the Open_

Starr was awakened at midnight by the sound of boot-heels on the ranch-house veranda. He lighted a lamp and limped to the door. The lamplight shone on the smooth, young face of a Mexican, whose black sombrero was powdered with dust.

"What do you want?" queried Starr.

"I am look for the Senor Jim. I am Ramon, of his place. From the rancho I ride to Stacey. He is not there. Then I come here."

"And you ain't particular about wakin' folks up to tell 'em, either."

"I would find him," said Ramon simply.