“How’re they coming?” he inquired genially of the besieged man, as he rounded the rock barricade.

Larrabie’s steel eyes relaxed to a hint of a friendly smile.  He knew this type of man like a brother.

“Fine and dandy here.  Hope you’re well yourself, seh.”

“Tol’able.  Buck’s up on his ear, o’ course.  Can’t blame him, can you?  Most any man would, with that kind of a pill sent to his address so sudden by special delivery.  Wasn’t that some inconsiderate of you, Mr. Keller?”

“I thought I explained it was another party did that.”

Pesky rolled a cigarette and lit it.

“Right sure of that, are you?  Wouldn’t mind my taking a look at that gun of yours?  You see, if it happens to be what you said it was, that kinder lets you out.”

Keller handed over the gun promptly.  The cow-puncher broke it, extracted a shell, and with his knife picked out the wad.  Into his palm rolled a dozen buckshot.

“Good enough!  I told Buck he was barking up the wrong tree.  Now, I’ll go back and have a powwow with him.  I reckon you’ll be willing to surrender on guarantee of a square deal?”

“Sure—­that’s all I ask.  I never met your friend—­didn’t know who he was from Adam.  I ain’t got any option to shoot all the red-haided men I meet.  No, sir!  You’ve followed a cross trail.”

“Looks like.  Still, it’s blamed funny.”  Pesky scratched his shining poll, and looked shrewdly at the other.  “We certainly ran Mr. Bushwhacker into the canon.  I’d swear to that.  We was right on his heels, though we couldn’t see him very well.  But he either come in here or a hole in the ground swallowed him.”

He waited tentatively for an answer, but none came other than the white-toothed smile that met him blandly.

“I reckon you know more than you aim to tell, Mr. Keller,” continued Pesky.  “Don’t you figure it’s up to you, if we let you out of this thing, to whack up any information you’ve got?  The kind of reptile that kills from ambush don’t deserve any consideration.”

Half an hour ago, the other would have agreed with him.  The man that shot his enemy from cover was a coyote—­nothing less.  But about that brown slip of a creature, who had for three minutes crossed his orbit, he wanted to reserve judgment.

“I expect I haven’t got a thing to tell you that would help any,” he drawled, his eye full on that of the cowpuncher.

Pesky threw away his cigarette.  “All right.  You’re the doctor.  I’ll amble back, and report to the boss.”

He did so, with the result that a truce was arranged.

Keller gave up his post of vantage, and came forward to surrender.

Weaver met him with a hard, wintry eye.  “Understand, I don’t concede your innocence.  You’re my prisoner, and, by God, if I get any more proof of your guilt, you’ve got to stand the gaff.”

The other nodded quietly, meeting him eye to eye.  Nor did his gaze fall, though the big cattleman was the most masterful man on the range.  Keller was as easy and unperturbed as when he had been holding half a dozen irate men at bay.