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  He rose and lurched to the bar. Some one steadied him as he swayed. He stiffened and struck the man in the face. He felt himself jerked backward and the shock cleared his vision. Opposite him two men held Fadeaway, whose mouth was bleeding. The puncher was struggling to get at his gun.

  Corliss laughed. "Got you that time, you thief!"

  "He's crazy drunk," said one of the men. "Don't get het up, Fade. He ain't packin' a gun."

  Fadeaway cursed and wiped the blood from his mouth. He was playing his part well. Accident had helped him. To all intents and purposes they were open enemies.

  Still, he was afraid Corliss would talk, so he laughed and extended his hand. "Shake, Billy. I guess you didn't know what you were doin'. I was tryin' to keep you from fallin'."

  Corliss stared at the other with unwinking eyes.

  Fadeaway laughed and turned toward the bar. "Ought to hand him one, but he's all in now, I reckon. That's what a fella gets for mixin' up with kids. Set 'em up, Joe."

  Left to himself Corliss stared about stupidly. Then he started for the doorway.

  As he passed Fadeaway, the latter turned and seized his arm. "Come on up and forget it, Billy. You and me's friends, ain't we?"

  The cowboy, by sheer force of his personality, dominated the now repentant Corliss, whose stubbornness had given way to tearful retraction and reiterated apology. Of course they were friends!

  They drank and Fadeaway noticed the other's increasing pallor. "Jest about one more and he'll take a sleep," soliloquized the cowboy. "In the mornin' 's when I ketch him, raw, sore, and ready for anything."

  One of the cowboys helped Corliss to his room at the Palace. Later Fadeaway entered the hotel, asked for a room, and clumped upstairs. He rose early and knocked at Corliss's door, then entered without waiting for a response.

  He wakened Corliss, who sat up and stared at him stupidly. "Mornin', Billy. How's the head?"

  "I don't know yet. Got any cash, Fade? I'm broke."

  "Sure. What you want?"

  Corliss made a gesture, at which the other laughed. "All right, pardner. I'll fan it for the medicine."

  When he returned to the room, Corliss was up and dressed. Contrary to Fadeaway's expectations, the other was apparently himself, although a little too bright and active to be normal.

  "Guess I got noisy last night," said Corliss, glancing at Fadeaway's swollen lip.

  "Forget it! Have some of this. Then I got to fan it."

  "Where are you going?"

  "Me? Over to the Blue. Got a job waitin' for me."

  Corliss's fingers worked nervously. "When did you say the Concho paid off?" he queried, avoiding the other's eye.

  Fadeaway's face expressed surprise. "The Concho? Why, next Monday. Why?"

  "Oh—nothing. I was just wondering…"

  "Want to send any word to Jack?" asked the cowboy.

  "No, I don't. Thanks, just the same, Fade."

  "Sure! Well, I guess I'll be goin'."

  "Wait a minute. Don't be in a rush. I was thinking…"

  Fadeaway strode to the window and stood looking out on the street. His apparent indifference was effective.

  "Say, Fade, do you think we could—could get away with it?"

  "With what?" exclaimed the cowboy, turning.

  "Oh, you know! What you said yesterday."

  "Guess I said a whole lot yesterday that I forgot this mornin'. I get to joshin' when I'm drinkin' bug-juice. What you gettin' at?"

  "The money—at the Concho."

  "Oh, that! Why, Billy, I was jest stringin' you! Supposin' somebody was to make a try for it; there's Chance like to be prowlin' around and the safe ain't standin' open nights. Besides, Jack sleeps next to the office. That was a josh."

  "Well, I could handle Chance," said Corliss. "And I know the combination to the safe, if it hasn't been changed. You said Jack was likely to be away nights, now."

  Fadeaway shook his head. "You're dreamin', Bill. 'Sides, I wouldn't touch a job like that for less'n five hundred."

  "Would you—for five hundred?"

  "I dunno. Depends on who I was ridin' with."

  "Well, I'll divvy up—give you five hundred if you'll come in on it."

  Again Fadeaway shook his head. "It's too risky, Billy. 'Course you mean all right—but I reckon you ain't got nerve enough to put her through."

  "I haven't!" flashed Corliss. "Try me!"

  "And make a get-away," continued the cowboy. "I wouldn't want to see you pinched."

  "I'll take a chance, if you will," said Corliss, now assuming, as Fadeaway had intended, the rôle of leader in the proposed robbery.

  "How you expect to get clear—when they find it out?"

  "I could get old man Soper to hide me out till I could get to Sagetown. He'll do anything for money. I could be on the Limited before the news would get to Antelope."

  "And if you got pinched, first thing you'd sing out 'Fadeaway,' and then me for over the road, eh?"

  "Honest, Fade. I'll swear that I won't give you away, even if I get caught. Here's my hand on it."

  "Give me nine hundred and I'll go you," said Fadeaway, shaking hands with his companion.

  Corliss hesitated. Was the risk worth but half the money involved? "Five's a whole lot, Fade."

  "Well, seein' you're goin' to do the gettin' at it, why, mebby I'd risk it for five hundred. I dunno."

  "You said you'd stand by a pal, Fade. Now's your chance."

  "All right. See here, Bill. You cut out the booze all you can to-day. Foot it out to the Beaver Dam to-night and I'll have a hoss for you. We can ride up the old cañon trail. Nobody takes her nowadays, so we'll be under cover till we hit the ford. We can camp there back in the brush and tackle her next evenin'. So-long."

  Fadeaway was downstairs and out on the street before Corliss realized that he had committed himself to a desperate and dangerous undertaking. He recalled the expression in Fadeaway's eyes when they had shaken hands. Unquestionably the cowboy meant business.

  CHAPTER IX

  SUNDOWN'S FRIEND

  Bud Shoop was illustrating, with quaint and humorous gestures and adjectives, one of his early experiences as Ranger on the Apache Reservation. The men, grouped around the night-fire, smoked and helped the tale along with reminiscent suggestions and ejaculations of interest and curiosity. In the midst of a vivid account of the juxtaposition of a telephone battery and a curious yet unsuspicious Apache, Shoop paused in the recital and gazed out across the mesa. "It's the boss," he said, getting to his feet. "Wonder what's up?"

  Corliss rode into camp, swung from the saddle, and called to Shoop. The men gazed at each other, nodded, and the words "Loring" and "sheep," punctuated their mutterings.

  Shoop and Corliss talked together. Then the foreman called to Hi Wingle, asking him how the "chuck" was holding out.

  "Runnin' short on flour and beans, Bud. Figured on makin' the Concho to-morrow."

  Corliss and his foreman came to the fire. "Boss says we're goin' to bush here the rest of this week," and Corliss nodded.

  "I'm expecting company on the west side," explained Corliss,

  The men gazed at each other knowingly.

  "All right," said Wingle. "Four sacks of flour and a sack of frijoles'll see us through. Got enough other stuff."

  "Send some one in for it," ordered Corliss. "I'm going to stay with the outfit, from now on."

  The men cheered. That was the kind of a boss to work for! No settin' back and lettin' the men do the fightin'! Some style to Jack Corliss! All of which was subtly expressed in their applause, although unspoken.

  "To see that you boys don't get into mischief," continued Corliss, smiling.

  "Which means keepin' other folks out of mischief, eh, patron?" said a cow-puncher.

  At the word "patron" the men laughed. "They're talkin' of turnin' this outfit into a sheep-camp," remarked another. "Ba-a-ah!" And again they laughed.

  Shoop motioned to Sundown who rose from beside the fire. "You can saddle u
p, Sun."

  Sundown caught up his horse and stood waiting while one of the men saddled two pack-animals. "Tony has the keys. He'll pack the stuff for you," said Corliss. "Keep jogging and you ought to be back here by sunup."

  The assistant cook mounted and took the lead-rope of the pack-horses. He was not altogether pleased with the prospect of an all-night ride, but he knew that he had been chosen as the one whose services could most easily be dispensed with at the camp. Silently he rode away, the empty kyacks clattering as the pack-horses trotted unwillingly behind him. Too busy with the unaccustomed lead-rope to roll cigarettes, he whistled, and, in turn, recited verse to keep up his spirits.

  About midnight he discerned the outline of the low ranch-buildings and urged his horse to a faster gait. As he passed a clump of cottonwoods, his horse snorted and shied. Sundown reined him in and leaned peering ahead. The pack-animals tugged back on the rope. Finally he coaxed them past the cottonwoods and up to the gate. It was open, an unusual circumstance which did not escape his notice. He drifted through the shadows toward the corral, where he tied the horses. Then he stepped to the bunk-house, found a lantern and lighted it. He hallooed. There was no response. He stalked across to the ranch-house. He found the door unlocked. "Hi! Tony!" he called. No one answered. He pushed the door open and entered. Holding the lantern above his head he peered around the room.

  In the dim light of the lantern vague outlines took shape. He noticed that the small safe in the corner was open. He became alarmed and again called. He heard a slight movement behind him and turned to see the door close. From behind stepped a figure, a slender figure that seemed unreal, yet familiar. With a cry of surprise he jumped back and stood facing his old friend and companion of the road, Will Corliss.

  "Billy!" he ejaculated, backing away and staring.

  "Yes, it's Billy." And Corliss extended his hand.

  "But—what, where—?" Sundown hesitated and glanced at the safe. His eyes widened and he lowered the lantern. "Billy!" he said, ignoring the other's proffered hand, "what you doin' here?"

  Corliss assumed a nonchalant air. "Shake, pal! It's a long time since we been in a wreck, eh?"

  Sundown was silent, studying the other's hardened features. "Billy!" he reiterated, "what you doin' here?"

  Corliss laughed nervously. "What are you doing here?" he retorted,—"in the office of the Concho, at midnight?"

  "I was comin' to get flour and beans for the camp—" he began.

  Corliss interrupted him. "Sounds good, that! But they don't keep the grub here. Guess you made a mistake."

  Sundown's face was expressionless. "Guess you made the mistake, Billy. I thought you was—dead."

  "Not on your tin-type, Sun."

  "I never thought you was crooked, Billy."

  "Crooked!" flashed Corliss. "Say, you—you forget it. I'm here to get what's coming to me. Jack turned me down, so I'm going to take what's mine."

  "Mebby it's yours, but you ain't gettin' it right," said Sundown. "I—I—never thought you was—"

  "Oh, cut that out! You didn't used to be so dam' particular."

  "I never swiped a cent in me life, Billy."

  "Well, forget it. I'm in a hurry. You go ahead and get the chuck. Here are the keys to the store-room—and beat it. Just forget that you saw me; that's all."

  Sundown shook his head. "I ain't forgettin' that easy, Billy. 'Sides, I'm workin' for the Concho, now. They're treatin' me fine—and I reckon I got to be square."

  "You mean you're going to squeal—going back on your old pal, eh?"

  Sundown's face expressed conflicting emotions. He straightened his lean shoulders. "I tell you, Billy; if you beat it now, they won't be nothin' to squeal about."

  "I'm going to." And Corliss stepped toward the safe. "Just hold that light this way a minute."

  Sundown complied, and Corliss thought that the other had overcome his scruples. Corliss hastily drew a small canvas sack from the safe and stuffed it into his pocket. Sundown backed toward the door.

  Corliss got to his feet. "Well, so-long, Sun. Guess I'll light out."

  "Not with that," said Sundown. "I ain't no preacher, but I ain't goin' to see you go straight to hell and me do nothin'. Mebby some of that dough is yourn. I dunno. But somebody's goin' to get pinched for takin' it. Bein' a Bo, it'll be me."

  "So that's what's worrying you, eh? Scared you'll get sent over for this. Well, you won't. You haven't got anything on you."

  "'T ain't that, Billy. It's you."

  Corliss laughed. "You're getting religion, too. Well, I never thought you'd go back on me."

  "I ain't. I was always your friend, Billy."

  Corliss hesitated. The door behind Sundown moved ever so little. Corliss's eyes held Sundown with unwinking gaze. Slowly the door swung open. Sundown felt rather than heard a presence behind him. Before he could turn, something crashed down on his head. The face of his old friend, intense, hard, desperate, was the last thing imaged upon his mind as the room swung round and he dropped limply to the floor.

  "Just in time," said Fadeaway, bending over the prostrate figure. "Get a move, Bill. I followed him from the cottonwoods and heard his talk. I was waitin' to get him when he come out, but I seen what he was up to and I fixed him."

  Corliss backed against the wall, trembling and white. "Is he—did you—?"

  Fadeaway grinned. "No, just chloroformed him. Get a move, Bill. No tellin' who'll come moseyin' along. Got the stuff?"

  Corliss nodded.

  Fadeaway blew out the light. "Come on, Bill. She worked slick."

  "But—he knows me," said Corliss. "He'll squeal."

  "And I reckon Jack'll believe him. Why, it's easy, Bill. They find the Bo on the job and the money gone. Who did it? Ask me."

  At the cottonwoods they mounted. "Now, you fan it for Soper's," said Fadeaway. "I'll keep on for the Blue. To-morrow evenin' I'll ride over and get my divvy."

  Corliss hesitated.

  "You better travel," said Fadeaway, reining his horse around. "So-long."

  Chance, a prisoner in the stable, whined and gnawed at the rope with which Corliss had tied him. The rope was hard-twisted and tough. Finally the last strand gave way. The dog leaped through the doorway and ran sniffing around the enclosure. He found Sundown's trail and followed it to the ranch-house. At the threshold the dog stopped. His neck bristled and he crooked one foreleg. Slowly he stalked to the prone figure on the floor. He sniffed at Sundown's hands and pawed at him. Slowly Sundown's eyes opened. He tried to rise and sank back groaning. Chance frisked around him playfully coaxing. Finally Sundown managed to sit up. With pain-heavy eyes he gazed around the room. Slowly he got to his feet and staggered to the doorway. He leaned against the lintel and breathed deeply of the fresh morning air. The clear cold tang of the storm that had passed, lingered, giving a keen edge to the morning. "We're sure in wrong," he muttered, gazing at Chance, who stood watching him with head cocked and eyes eager for something to happen—preferably action. Sundown studied the dog dully. "Say, Chance," he said finally, "do you think you could take a little word to the camp? I heard of dogs doin' such things. Mebby you could. Somebody's got to do 'somethin' and I can't." Painfully he stooped and pointed toward the south. "Go tell the boss!" he commanded. Chance whined. "No, that way. The camp!"

  Chance nosed across the yard toward the gate. Then he stopped and looked back. Sundown encouraged him by waving his arm toward the south. "Go ahead, Chance. The boss wants you."

  Chance trotted toward the cottonwood, nosed among them, and finally took Sundown's trail to the knoll.

  Sundown crept to the bunk-house, wondering what had become of the Mexican, Tony. He determined to search for him, but became dizzy, and, crawling to a bunk, lay back groaning as the dull pain in his head leaped intermittently to blinding stabs of agony. It seemed ages before he heard the quick staccato of hoofs on the road. He raised himself on his elbow as Shoop and Corliss rode up on their mud-spattered and steaming ponies. Sundown called as they
dismounted at the corral.

  Corliss and Shoop stamped in, breathing hard. "What's up?" questioned Corliss.

  "They—they got the money," muttered Sundown, pointing toward the office.

  "Who? See what's up, Bud."

  Shoop swung out and across the enclosure.

  Corliss stooped over Sundown. "What's wrong, Sun? Why, Great God, you're hurt!"

  The rancher brought water and bathed Sundown's head. "Who did it?" he questioned.

  "I dunno, boss. I come and caught 'em at it. Two of 'em, I guess. I was tryin' to stop one fella from takin' it when the other slips me one on the head, and I takes a sleep. I was lookin' for Tony in the office."

  "Where's Tony?"

  "I dunno. I was goin' to see—but—my head…"

  "That's all right. You take it easy as you can. I'll find out."

  And Corliss left the room. With Chance he explored the outbuildings and finally discovered the Mexican bound and gagged in the stable. He released him, but could make nothing of his answers save that some one had come at night, tied his hands and feet, and carried him from the ranch-house.

  Corliss returned to Sundown. In the bunkhouse he encountered Shoop.

  "They robbed the safe," said Shoop, and he spoke with a strange quietness. "Better come and take a look, Jack."

  "Didn't blow her," said Shoop, pointing toward the corner as they entered the office.

  Corliss knelt and examined the safe. "The man that did it knew the combination," he said. "There isn't a mark on the door."

  He rose, and Shoop met his eye. Corliss shook his head. "I don't know," he said, as if in answer to a silent questioning. Then he told Shoop to look for tracks.

  "The rain's fixed the tracks," said Shoop, turning in the doorway. "But it ain't drowned out my guess on this proposition."