Incidentally, Senator Steve had warned Bartley to keep away from the Hole-in-the-Wall district after dark, intimating that there was more in the wind than Cheyenne’s feud with Panhandle Sears.  So Bartley contented himself with acting as a sort of private secretary for the Senator, a duty that was a pleasure.  The hardest thing Bartley did was to refuse bottled entertainment, at least once out of every three times it was offered.

On the evening of the fourth day after Pelly had wired the Senator that Sneed and his men had ridden north from Tucson, Posmo, hanging about the eastern outskirts of Phoenix, saw a small band of horsemen against the southern sky-line.  Knowing the trail they would take, north, Posmo had timed their arrival almost to the hour.  They would pass to the east of Phoenix, and take the old Apache Trail, North.  Posmo had his horse saddled and hidden in a draw.  He mounted and rode directly toward the oncoming horsemen.

He sang as he rode.  It was safer to do that, when it was growing dark.  The riders would know he was a Mexican, and that he did not wish to conceal his identity on the road.  He did not care to be mistaken for an enemy, especially so near Phoenix.

Sneed, a giant in the dusk, reined in as Posmo hailed the group.  Sneed asked his name.  Posmo replied, and was told to ride up.  Sneed, separating himself from his men, rode a little ahead and met Posmo.

“Panhandle is give the deal away,” stated Posmo.

“How?”

“He drunk and spend all the money.  He do not give me anything for that I make the deal—­over there,” and Posmo gestured toward the south.

“Double-crossed you, eh?  And now you’re sore and want his scalp.”

“He talk too much of the Box-S horses in that cantina,” stated Posmo deliberately.  “He say that you owe him money.”  This was an afterthought, and an invention.

“Who did he say that to?” queried Sneed.

“He tell everybody in that place that you turn the good trick and then throw him hard.”

“Either you’re lyin’, or Panhandle’s crazy.”  Sneed turned and called to his men, a few paces off.  They rode up on tired horses.  “What do you say, boys?  Panhandle is talkin’, over there in Phoenix.  Posmo, here, says Panhandle is talkin’ about us.  Now nobody’s got a thing on us.  We been south lookin’ at some stock we’re thinkin’ of buyin’.  Want to ride over with me and have a little talk with Panhandle?”

“Ain’t that kind of risky, Cap?”

“Every time!  But it ain’t necessary to ride right into the marshal’s office.  We put our little deal through clean.  The horses we’re ridin’ belong to us.  And who’s goin’ to stop us from ridin’ in, or out, of town?  I aim to talk to Panhandle into ridin’ north with us.  It’s safer to have him along.  If you all don’t want to ride with me, I’ll go in alone.”

“We’re with you, Cap,” said one of the men.

“Mebby it’s safer to ride through the towns from now on than to keep dodgin’ ’em,” suggested Lawson.