.

      He pulled himself from these dismal reflections with effort. He was approaching Starlight, approaching a horseman who jogged out of the timbered slopes of the canyon. The horseman stopped on the road and turned, waiting. Steve considered this suspiciously but kept his gait. Presently he discovered it was Lyle Bonnet. Lyle lifted a hand and swept forward, reining abreast. Enormous relief registered on his face.

      "Yuh feather-footed, sword-swallerin' brush jumper. Where yuh been? Where ain't yuh been? I been pokin' into every prairie-dog hole, bear den, and holler stump in the country. I been lookin' for yuh. Tell a man!"

      "Here I am," said Steve and sat silent.

      Lyle Bonnet looked at the man more closely. This was not the same Steve. No flicker of harum-scarum humor moved in the pale blue eyes, no drawling melody played through the answer. This fellow who rested woodenly in the saddle and stared back mirthlessly, mouth pinched together, was an uncomfortable stranger; and Lyle Bonnet had the queer sensation of seeing somebody who was Steve's counterpart.

      "Yeah, there yuh are," grumbled Bonnet, "and I reckon it don't mean nothin' to yuh that I've just naturally trotted the hocks off six horses tryin' to locate yuh. Looks to me like yuh ain't had no sleep since the Fourth of July, 1887. Where was yuh?"

      "Doin' a chore," said Steve and again let the silence fall.

      "My, my," observed Bonnet. "Talkative cuss. Well, come on to the ranch."

      "What for?"

      "There's been some developments," was Bonnet's evasive answer. "In fact, there's a sorta meetin' to discuss topics of mutual benefit and interest."

      Steve considered it and nodded. "Let's go, then," was all he said.

      Bonnet led him up Starlight at a rapid clip. Once he drew away from Steve and turned to discover the man lagging beside the canyon, head lifted as if scanning the far ridge. But Steve came on, and presently they arrived at the crest overlooking the D Slash yard. Right beside the trail was the fresh rectangle of earth marking Denver's false grave. Steve passed it hurriedly, cheeks like stone, and trotted up to the house porch.

      "Who's at this meetin'?" he wanted to know.

      Bonnet indicated the house negligently. "Go on in."

      Steve pushed the door open, started to cross the sill, and stopped like a man shot through the heart. Denver stood in the center of the room, supporting himself with a cane; and Denver attacked him instantly, bluntly, severely.

      "Where in the name of common sense have you been? What business have you got ridin' like a wild man through the country, challengin' all the tough eggs as if you were Wild Bill in person? Don't leer at me like that. It's a fine situation when a man can't find his friends in time of need without sending a posse out. Come in and shut the door."

      Bonnet was directly behind Steve. Steve swung on his heels, pushed Bonnet aside with a curse, and walked to the far end of the porch. Bonnet went inside.

      "It looks to me," he remarked, "as if you was goin' to get both ears chawed off in a minute."

      Denver grinned wryly. "Well, I had to say somethin' to take the edge off this reunion, didn't I? I suppose he'll give me fits, and I suppose I've got to grin and bear it."

      A weird honking sound came from the porch. "What's that?" demanded Bonnet, starting out.

      Denver checked him. "No, stay here. Steve's just blowin' his nose. Sentiment seems to affect his breathin'. Where'd you find him?"

      "Comin' out of the prairie, lookin' like Israel's last child, like the sole survivor of the flood, like the fella who'd forgot his name. What I mean, he was sorta that way, if yuh gather me."

      "In parts and by slow stages," grunted Denver. "Stick with me and don't let him strike a cripple. Here he comes."

      Steve stood in the doorway, thumbs hooked in his belt. His face was drawn together in an enormous scowl.

      "So yuh come back, Mister Denver?" he stated coldly. "They didn't have no wings in heaven yore size, and hell wouldn't let yuh in. Just a big overgrown practical joker, that's what. My, my, I thought I'd die of laughin' when I heard you'd kicked the bucket. Listen, Denver, you got no title to have any friends. In so far as I'm concerned yuh might just as well climb back in the grave. Imagine a man—"

      "It's his voice," opined Denver, nodding to Bonnet. "But that face ain't familiar."

      "Never mind my face," snapped Steve. "Yores won't bear much daylight, Mister Denver."

      "Think of that, Bonnet," grieved Dave. "Think of that kind of talk from a man I practically raised from poverty."

      Steve yelled, "What in the name o' Jupiter did yuh go and do it for?"

      Denver smiled—a rare and warming smile that drew the resentment out of Steve like a poultice. "I know it hurts. But somebody had to be hurt. I wanted it thoroughly advertised around this country I was dead. And I think you made a pretty good advertisement."

      "So I wasn't to be trusted?" Steve grumbled. "You had a part to play, Steve."

      "Never do that again," warned the puncher.

      "You hear? Never do that again."

      "All right," agreed Denver. "I'm lucky to get off like that. But what's this foolishness I hear about you?"

      "That's more of the part I was to play," retorted Steve.

      "Well, don't go gunning for Dann," admonished Denver. "When we take him into camp it will be along with the rest."

      "You won't never take him to camp, Dave," said Steve gently.

      Bonnet and Denver looked more closely at Steve. Bonnet said, "Say, was that why yuh come up from the prairie lookin' like yu'd swallowed a lemon?"

      "You met him?" challenged Denver.

      "Yeah," muttered Steve. "At Ysabel Junction. He laid a trap, and I walked into it like a fool kid. He took twelve shots. I got him with one. And laughed in his face when he died."

      Quiet came to the room. Denver tapped his cane on the floor, lips compressing. "You took a whale of a chance, Steve," he said finally.

      "Consider that next time you play dead on me," replied Steve. Then his puckered face was swept up in a grin. He walked forward and struck Denver on the chest. "Yuh wildcat, they got to use dynamite to remove yuh from this mortal map! Well, here I am—and what's next?"

      Denver smiled again. "Bonnet, here's our Stevie back home again."

      "Listen," added Steve, "I got somethin' to say. Dann died thinkin' Redmain had framed him. So he squealed, and you can take it for what it may be worth. He said Redmain was plannin' to hit Sundown and burn it to the sills."

      "When?" demanded Denver and Bonnet in unison.

      "He died on me and didn't tell."

      Denver limped around the room. "I wish I knew where Redmain was hiding. None of the boys are able to pick up a smell. We've got to find out. We've got to do it, in a hurry. Burn Sundown? If that's in his head, he'll never stop short of fillin' his promise. Not Lou Redmain. He'll destroy right and left."

      Steve put a hand in his coat pocket and pulled out the station agent's telegram. For a moment he puzzled over it. "Oh, yeah," he murmured. "I've got to drag into town with this. Agent said it was somethin' for Ed Storm. Money comin' in for the pay days."

      Denver stopped in his tracks. "When?"

      "This is code, but the agent seemed to know. He said Saturday."

      Denver drew a deep breath. "All right. If we can't find Redmain's date of attack, we'll make one. We'll make it worth his while to come in on Saturday—after the money arrives. You go give the message to Ed. Then go get a few drinks—"

      Steve lifted a protesting hand. "I never want to see liquor any more."

      "—Get a few drinks and let your tongue waggle. Mention about the money in Grogan's. Mention the date.