The Spider grinned hideously.  “Smile!  Don’t make a break for the patio.  The boys out there wouldn’t understand, and Boca might get hurt.  She’s goin’ to sing.  You turn slow, and listen.  When your back’s turned, those hombres out there will step in.”  The Spider laughed, as though at something Pete had said.  “You’re mighty surprised to see ’em and you start to talk.  Leave the rest to me.”

Pete nodded and lifted his glass.  From the patio came the sound of Boca’s voice and the soft strumming of the guitar.  Pete heard but hardly realized the significance of the first line or two of the song—­and then: 

  “A rider stood at the lamplit bar,
      tugging the knot of his neckscarf loose,
  While some one sang to the silver strings,
      in the moonlight patio.”

It was the song of “The Outlaw.”  Pete turned slowly and faced the patio.  Manuelo swept the strings in a melodious interlude.  Boca, her vivid lips parted, smiled at Pete even as she began to sing again.  Pete could almost feel the presence of men behind him.  He knew that he was trapped, but he kept his gaze fixed on Boca’s face.  The Spider spoke to some one—­a word of surprised greeting.  In spite of his hold on himself Pete felt the sweat start on his lip and forehead.  He was curious as to what these men would look like; as to whether he would know them.  Perhaps they were not after him, but after some of the men in the patio—­

“Annersley!”

Pete swung round, his hands up.  He recognized two of the men—­deputies of Sheriff Sutton of Concho.  The third man was unknown to him.

“You’re under arrest for the killing of Steve Gary.”

“How’s that?” queried The Spider.

“Steve Gary.  This kid shot him—­over to the Blue.  We don’t want any trouble about this,” continued the deputy.  “We’ve got a couple of men out back—­”

“There won’t be any trouble,” said The Spider.

“No—­there won’t be any trouble,” asserted Pete.  “Gimme a drink, Spider.”

“No, you don’t!” said the deputy.  “You got too many friends out there,” and he gestured toward the patio with his gun.

“Not my friends,” said Pete.

Boca’s song ended abruptly as she turned from her audience to glance in Pete’s direction.  She saw him standing with upraised hands—­and in front of him three men—­strangers to Showdown.

Came the shuffling of feet as the men in the patio turned to see what she was staring at.

“Sit still!” called The Spider.  “This ain’t your deal, boys.  They got the man they want.”

But Boca, wide-eyed and trembling, stepped through the doorway.

“That’s close enough!” called a deputy.

She paused, summoning all of her courage and wit to force a laugh.  “Si, senor.  But you are mistaken.  It is not that I care what you do with him.  I do but come for the wine for which I have asked, but there was no one to bring it to me,”—­and she stepped past the end of the bar into The Spider’s room.  She reappeared almost instantly with a bottle of wine.