“Who do you mean by us?  Who was with you?”

“I don’ know who he was.  Fellow said Brad Steelman sent him to fix things up for me.”

Thomas borrowed the field-glasses of Crawford.  Presently he lowered them.  “Two fellows comin’ hell-for-leather across the valley,” he said in a voice that expressed his fears.

The cattleman took the glasses and looked.  “Shorty’s found a friend.  Dug Doble likely.  They’re carryin’ rifles.  We’ll have trouble.  They’ll see we stopped at the haid of the pass,” he said quietly.

Much shaken already, the oil prospector collapsed at the prospect before him.  He was a man of peace and always had been, in spite of the valiant promise of his tongue.

“None of my funeral,” he said, his lips white.  “I’m hittin’ the trail for Malapi right now.”

He wheeled his horse and jumped it to a gallop.  The roan plunged through the chaparral and soon was out of sight.

“We’ll fix Mr. Miller so he won’t make us any trouble during the rookus,” Crawford told Dave.

He threw the coiled rope over the heaviest branch of the cedar, drew it tight, and fastened it to the trunk of the tree.

“Now you’ll stay hitched,” he went on, speaking to their prisoner.  “And you’d better hold that horse mighty steady, because if he jumps from under you it’ll be good-bye for one scalawag.”

“If you’d let me down I’d do like you told me, Mr. Crawford,” pleaded Miller.  “It’s right uncomfortable here.”

“Keep still.  Don’t say a word.  Yore friends are gettin’ close.  Let a chirp outa you, and you’ll never have time to be sorry,” warned the cattleman.

The two men tied their horses behind some heavy mesquite and chose their own cover.  Here they crouched down and waited.

They could hear the horses of the outlaws climbing the hill out of the valley to the pass.  Then, down in the canon, they caught a glimpse of Thomas in wild flight.  The bandits stopped at the divide.

“They’ll be headin’ this way in a minute,” Crawford whispered.

His companion nodded agreement.

They were wrong.  There came the sound of a whoop, a sudden clatter of hoofs, the diminishing beat of horses’ feet.

“They’ve seen Thomas, and they’re after him on the jump,” suggested Dave.

His friend’s eyes crinkled to a smile.  “Sure enough.  They figure he’s the tail end of our party.  Well, I’ll bet Thomas gives ’em a good run for their money.  He’s right careless sometimes, but he’s no foolhardy idiot and he don’t aim to argue with birds like these even though he’s a rip-snorter when he gets goin’ good and won’t stand any devilin’.”

“He’ll talk them to death if they catch him,” Dave answered.

“Back to business.  What’s our next move, son?”

“Some more conversation with Miller.  Probably he can tell us where the gold is hidden.”

“Whoopee!  I’ll bet he can.  You do the talkin’.  I’ve a notion he’s more scared of you.”