When he opened the door two Sonora policemen told him to put up his hands.  Donovan stood back of them, chewing a cigar.  One of the policemen took Waring’s gun.  The other searched the room.  Evidently he did not find what he sought.

“When you get through,” said Waring, eyeing Donovan grimly, “you might tell me what you’re after.”

“I’m after that thousand,” said Donovan.

“Oh!  Well, why didn’t you say so?  Just call in Stanley, of the bank.  His room is opposite.”

Donovan hesitated.  “Stanley’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Hasn’t he?” queried Waring.  “Call him in and see.”

One of the police knocked at Stanley’s door.

The bank cashier appeared, rubbing his eyes.  “Hello, Bill!  Hello, Jim!  What’s the fuss?”

“Stanley, did I deposit a thousand dollars in gold to the credit of the
Ortez Mine this afternoon?”

“You did.”

“Just show Donovan here the receipt I asked you to keep for me.”

“All right.  I’ll get it.”

Donovan glanced at the receipt.  “Pretty smooth,” he muttered.

Waring smiled.  His silence enraged Donovan, who motioned to the police to leave the room.

Waring interrupted.  “My gun?” he queried mildly.

One of the police handed the gun to Waring.

Their eyes met.  “Why, hello, Pedro!” And Waring’s voice expressed innocent surprise.  “When did you enroll as a policeman?”

Donovan was about to interrupt when the policeman spoke:  “That is my business.”

“Which means Bill here has had you sworn in to-day.  Knew you would like to get a crack at me, eh?  You ought to know better, Salazar.”

“Come on!” called Donovan.

The Mexicans followed him down the hallway.

Waring thanked Stanley.  “It was a frame-up to get me, Frank,” he concluded.  “Pedro Salazar would like the chance, and as a policeman he could work it.  You know that old game—­resisting arrest.”

“Doesn’t seem to worry you,” said Stanley.

“No.  I’m leaving town.  I’m through with this game.”

“Getting too hot?”

“No.  I’m getting cold feet,” said Waring, laughing.  “And say, Stanley, I may need a little money to-morrow.”

“Any time, Jim.”

Waring nodded.  Back in his room he sat for a while on the edge of the bed, gazing at the curtained window.  Life had gone stale.  He was sick of hunting men and of being hunted.  Pedro Salazar was now a member of the Sonora police through Donovan’s efforts.  Eventually Salazar would find an excuse to shoot Waring.  And the gunman had made up his mind to do no more killing.  For that reason he had spared Vaca and had befriended Ramon.  He decided to leave Sonora.

Presently he rose and dressed in his desert clothes.  As he went through his pockets he came upon the little silver crucifix and transferred it, with some loose change, to his riding-breeches.  He turned out the light, locked the room from the outside, and strode out of the hotel.