“Not a fight, my son; we’ll make it so softly that not a son-of-a-gun will ever know how it happened.  When they wake up we’ll be twenty miles out in the desert, an’ still a goin’.  Thar’s a big log clinging ter the upper end o’ the rock.  I saw it when I fust come over; an’ ‘bout an hour ago I crept back through that gully an’ took a good look.  A shove will send it floatin’.  An’ with a good pair o’ legs to steer with, thar ain’t nuthin’ to stop it this side the curve, an’ I don’t calculate any o’ the rifle brigade will be down as fur as that—­do you?”

“Not likely,” and Westcott measured the distance with eyes that had lost their despondency.  “Your idea is that we drift past under cover of the log?”

“Sure.  We’ll tie our guns an’ cartridges on top, where they’ll be out o’ water, an’ keep down below ourselves.  Them fellers may glimpse the log an’ blaze away, but ’tain’t likely they’ll have luck enough to hit either one o’ us, an’ the flare will show ’em it’s only a log, an’ they’ll likely quit an’ pass the word along.  It sounds blame good ter me, Jim; what d’ye say?”

Westcott’s hand went out, and the fingers of the two men clasped silently.  There was no need for more speech; they understood each other.

The night closed down swiftly, as it does in the West, the purple of the hills becoming black as though by some magic.  There was a heavy cloud hanging in the Western sky, constantly sweeping higher in pledge of a dark night.  The banks of the stream became obscured, and finally vanished altogether; while the water ceased to glimmer and turned to an inky blackness.  Lights twinkled in the distant shacks, and the front of the Red Dog burst into illumination.  The saloon was too far away for the watchers to pick out the moving figures of men, but Brennan chuckled, and pointed his finger at the glare.

“Lacy ain’t fergettin’ the profit in all this,” he whispered hoarsely.  “The boys are goin’ ter be dry, an’ he’ll sell ’em all they want—­wouldn’t mind if I had some myself.  Is it dark enough, mate?”

“The sooner the better!”

“That’s my ticket.  Come on then, but don’t make a sound; them lads are more liable to hear than they are to see us.  Let me go first.”

The log was at the other end of the little island, but there was a considerable rift in the rock surface, not deep, but of sufficient width to permit the passage of a body.  The jagged stone made the way rough in the dark, and Westcott found himself at the upper extremity, gashed and bruised by the contact.

Brennan had already lowered himself into the water, assisted in the downward climb by some low, tough bushes whose tendrils clung tenaciously to the smooth rock.  Westcott followed silently, and found footing in about three feet of water, where it swirled around the base of the island.  From this low point, their eyes close to the surface of the stream, the men could dimly discern the shore lines silhouetted