“They were an hour ago.  We had word.  Zimmer saw Dick.”

“All right.  Have you any horses handy?”

“Sure.  Those hitched outside belong to us.”

“I want you to take a man with you, in a few moments, and ride round the back roads and up to Sampson’s house.  Get off and wait under the trees till you hear me shoot or yell, then come fast.”

Morton’s breast heaved; he whistled as he breathed; his neck churned.  “God Almighty!  So there the scent leads!  We always wondered—­half believed.  But no one spoke—­no one had any nerve.”  Morton moistened his lips; his face was livid; his big hands shook.  “Russ, you can gamble on me.”

“Good.  Well, that’s all.  Come out and get me a horse.”

When I had mounted and was half-way to the Hope So, my plan, as far as Snecker was concerned, had been formed.  It was to go boldy into the saloon, ask for the rustler, first pretend I had a reply from Morton and then, when I had Snecker’s ear, whisper a message supposedly from Sampson.  If Snecker was too keen to be decoyed I could at least surprise him off his guard and kill him, then run for my horse.  The plan seemed clever to me.  I had only one thing to fear, and that was a possibility of the rustlers having seen my part in Steele’s defense the other day.  That had to be risked.  There were always some kind of risks to be faced.

It was scarcely a block and a half to the Hope So.  Before I arrived I knew I had been seen.  When I dismounted before the door I felt cold, yet there was an exhilaration in the moment.  I never stepped more naturally and carelessly into the saloon.  It was full of men.  There were men behind the bar helping themselves.  Evidently Blandy’s place had not been filled.  Every face near the door was turned toward me; dark, intent, scowling, malignant they were, and made me need my nerve.

“Say, boys, I’ve a word for Snecker,” I called, quite loud.  Nobody stirred.  I swept my glance over the crowd, but did not see Snecker.  “I’m in some hurry,” I added.

“Bill ain’t here,” said a man at the table nearest me.  “Air you comin’ from Morton?”

“Nit.  But I’m not yellin’ this message.”

The rustler rose, and in a few long strides confronted me.

“Word from Sampson!” I whispered, and the rustler stared.  “I’m in his confidence.  He’s got to see Bill at once.  Sampson sends word he’s quit—­he’s done—­he’s through.  The jig is up, and he means to hit the road out of Linrock.”

“Bill’ll kill him surer ’n hell,” muttered the rustler.  “But we all said it’d come to thet.  An’ what’d Wright say?”

“Wright!  Why, he’s cashed in.  Didn’t you-all hear?  Reckon Sampson shot him.”

The rustler cursed his amaze and swung his rigid arm with fist clenched tight.  “When did Wright get it?”

“A little while ago.  I don’t know how long.  Anyway, I saw him lyin’ dead on the porch.  An’ say, pard, I’ve got to rustle.  Send Bill up quick as he comes.  Tell him Sampson wants to turn over all his stock an’ then light out.”