The half-breed leaned over his horse's shoulder and spat. Then he ostentatiously returned the gun he was holding to its holster.

"Maybe I'll need him no more," he said, with an obviously insincere sigh.

Fyles was quite undeceived.

"Surely--if you're going out of business. What's your--business?"

The man laughed.

"I used to be runnin' whisky." Then he chuckled softly. "Y'see, that chu'ch has got a hold on me. I'm feelin' that pious I can't bear the thought of runnin' whisky--an' I can't bear the thought of--other folk runnin' it. No, I'm quittin' that bizness. I'm jest goin' in fer straight buyin' and sellin'--inside the law."

Fyles was watching the man closely in the dim night light. He knew exactly what the man was there for now. Furthermore he knew precisely how to deal with him. He was weighing in his mind the extent to which he could trust him. His detestation of the race increased, while yet every nerve was alert to miss no chance.

"Straight buying and selling is good when you've found a buyer, and got--something to sell," he said.

The man shrugged.

"I sure got something to sell, an' I guess you ought to be the buyer."

Fyles nodded.

"I mostly buy--what I need. What's your line?"

Again the man laughed. His uneasiness had pa.s.sed. He felt they understood each other.

"Mostly hot air," he said carelessly.

Fyles hated the man's contemplated treachery. However, his duty was plain.

"Well, I might buy hot air--if it's right, and the price is right."

The man turned with an alert look and peered into the police officer's face.

"They're both right," he said sharply. Then his manner changed abruptly to one of hot intensity. "Here let's quit talkin' fool stuff.

I can tell you what you're needin' to know. And I'll tell you, if you'll pa.s.s me over, and let me quit clear without a question. I need to get across the border--an' I don't want to see the inside of no penitentiary, nor come up before any court. I want to get right away quick. See? I can tell you just how a big cargo's comin' into Rocky Springs. I know, because I'm one of 'em bringing it in. See? And when I've told you I've still got to bring it in, or those who're running it with me would guess things, and get busy after me, or--or change their plans. See? Give us your word of a free run for the border, an'

I'll put you wise. A free run clear, on your honor, in the name of the Government."

"Why are you doing this?" demanded Fyles sharply.

"That's up to me."

"Why are you doing this?" Fyles insisted. "I need to know before I make any deal."

"Do you?"

Pete thought for some moments, and Fyles waited. At last the man looked up, and his evil face was full of the venom of his words.

"I want to give 'em away," he cried with bitter hatred. "I want to see the boss pa.s.s on to the penitentiary. See? I want to see the boss rot there for five good, dandy years."

"Who's the boss?" demanded Fyles sharply.

The man's eyes grinned cunningly.

"Why, the feller you're going to get Monday night, with fifty gallons of good rye."

Fyles sat up.

"Monday night?" Then he went on. "Say, why do you want to put him away?"

"Ah."

"Well?"

Again the half-breed hesitated. Then with a sudden exclamation of impatience his desire for revenge urged him on.

"Tcha! What's the use?" he cried fiercely. "Say, have you ever had h.e.l.l smashed out of your features by a lousy dude? No. Well, I owe a bit--a h.e.l.l of a bit--to some one, and I guess I don't owe nothing in this world else but money. Debts o' this sort I generally pay when I get the chance. You're goin' to give me that chance."

Fyles had satisfied himself. The man sickened him. Now he wanted to be done with him.

"What's your story? I'll pay you the price," he cried, with utter contempt.

But the man wanted added a.s.surance.

"Sure?" he cried eagerly. "You're goin' to get me with the rest?

Savee? You're goin' to get me, an' when you get me, you're goin' to give me twenty-four hours' free run for the border?"

"If I get you you can go free--for twenty-four hours."

The man's face lit with a devilish grin of cruelty.

"Good. You'll shake on it?" He held out his hand.

Fyles shook his hand.

"Guess it's not necessary. My word goes. You've got to take my word, as I've got to take yours. Come on. I've no more time to waste."

Pete withdrew his hand. He understood. His venom against the white race was only the further increased.

"Say," he growled, his eyes lighting with added ferocity. "That cargo is to be run down the river on Monday night about midnight. There'll be a big rack of hay come in by trail--the river trail--and most of the gang'll be with it. If you locate it they calculate you'll get busy unloading to find the liquor. Meanwhile the cargo'll slip through on the river, in a small boat. Savee? Guess there'll be jest one feller with that boat, an'--he'll be the feller that's--that's had you red coats skinned a mile all these months an' years."

Fyles gathered up his reins.

"Just one word," he said coldly. "I hate a traitor worse than poison, but I'm paid to get these people. So my word goes, if your story's true. If it isn't--well, take my advice and get out quick, or--you won't have time."

Before the half-breed had time to reply Peter threw up his head, and set off at the touch of his master's spurs.