“Tickled to death, ain’t you?” snapped the ex-foreman sourly.  “Looks to me like you didn’t want to make this arrest, Mr. Sheriff.  Looks to me like some one else has been doin’ some double-crossin’ besides me.”

“Naturally you’d think that,” cut in Goodheart dryly.  “The facts probably are that Go-Get-’Em Jim, knowin’ his friends pretty well, had you watched, found out you called on the sheriff, an’ guessed the rest.  He’s not a fool, you know.”

“That’s right.  Git ready an alibi,” Sanders snarled.

Casually Goodheart picked up the piece of wrapping-paper upon which the note had been written.  He read aloud the last sentence.

“‘Crack Sanders one on the bean with your six-gun on account for me.’  Seems to me if I was you, Buck, I’d alibi myself down the river into Texas as quick as I could jog a bronco along.  But, of course, I don’t know yore friend Go-Get-’Em as well as you do.  Mebbe you’ll be able to explain it to him.  Tell him you were hard up an’ needed the money.”

The eyes of the rustler flashed from Goodheart to the sheriff.  They were full of sinister suspicion.  Had these men arranged to deliver him into the hands of Clanton?  Was he himself going to fall into the pit he had dug?

“Gimme back my gun an’ I’m not afraid of him or any of you,” he bluffed.

“You’ll get yore gun when we reach Los Portales,” Prince told him.  “I left it in my office.”

“I ain’t goin’ to Los Portales.”

“All right.  Leave yore address and I’ll send the gun by the buckboard driver.”

All the baffled hate and cupidity of Sanders glared out of his wolfish face.  “I’ll let you know later where I’m at.”

He straddled out of the house, pulled himself astride the waiting horse, and rode up the hill.  Presently he disappeared over the crest.

“Much obliged, Jack,” said Prince, smiling.  “Exit Mr. Buck Sanders from New Mexico.  Our loss is Texas’s gain.  Chalk up one bad man emigrated from Washington County.”

“He’s sure goin’ to take my advice,” agreed the lank deputy.  A little chuckle of amusement escaped from his throat.  “To the day of his death he’ll think we sent word to Go-Get-’Em Jim.  I’ll bet my next pay-check against a dollar Mex that he forgets to send you that address.”

Billie availed himself of the invitation of Clanton to make himself at home.  He and his posse spent the night in the dug-out and returned to Los Portales next day.  For the better part of a week he was detained there on business, after which he took the stage to Live-Oaks.

News was waiting for Prince at the county seat that led him for a time to forget the existence of Clanton.  The buckboard driver from El Paso reported the worst sand-storm he had ever encountered.  It had struck him a mile or two this side of the Mal-Pais, as the great lava beds in the Tularosa Basin are commonly called.  He had unhitched the horses, overturned the buckboard, and huddled in the shelter of the bed.  There he had lain crouched for ten hours while the drifting sand, fine as powder, blotted out the world and buried him in drifts.  He was an old plainsman, tough as leather, and he had weathered the storm safely.  A full day late he staggered into Live-Oaks a sorry sight.