“Cordts! . . .  Cordts, an’ four of his outfit.  Two of them I didn’t know.  Bad men, judgin’ from appearances, let alone company.  The others was Hutchinson an’—­Dick Sears.”

“Dick Sears!” exclaimed Bostil.

Muncie and Williams echoed Bostil.  Holley appeared suddenly interested.  Creech alone showed no surprise.

“But Sears is dead,” added Bostil.

“He was dead—­we thought,” replied Brackton, with a grim laugh.  “But he’s alive again.  He told me he’d been in Idaho fer two years, in the gold-fields.  Said the work was too hard, so he’d come back here.  Laughed when he said it, the little devil!  I’ll bet he was thinkin’ of thet wagon-train of mine he stole.”

Bostil gazed at his chief rider.

“Wal, I reckon we didn’t kill Sears, after all,” replied Holley.  “I wasn’t never sure.”

“Lord!  Cordts an’ Sears in camp,” ejaculated Bostil, and he began to pace the room.

“No, they’re gone now,” said Brackton.

“Take it easy, boss.  Sit down,” drawled Holley.  “The King is safe, an’ all the racers.  I swear to thet.  Why, Cordts couldn’t chop into thet log-an’-wire corral if he an’ his gang chopped all night!  They hate work.  Besides, Farlane is there, an’ the boys.”

This reassured Bostil, and he resumed his chair.  But his hand shook a little.

“Did Cordts have anythin’ to say?” he asked.

“Sure.  He was friendly an’ talkative,” replied Brackton.  “He came in just after dark.  Left a man I didn’t see out with the hosses.  He bought two big packs of supplies, an’ some leather stuff, an’, of course, ammunition.  Then some whisky.  Had plenty of gold an’ wouldn’t take no change.  Then while his men, except Sears, was carryin’ out the stuff, he talked.”

“Go on.  Tell me,” said Bostil.

“Wal, he’d been out north of Durango an’ fetched news.  There’s wild talk back there of a railroad goin’ to be built some day, joinin’ east an’ west.  It’s interestin’, but no sense to it.  How could they build a railroad through thet country?”

“North it ain’t so cut up an’ lumpy as here,” put in Holley.

“Grandest idea ever thought of for the West,” avowed Bostil.  “If thet railroad ever starts we’ll all get rich. . . .  Go on, Brack.”

“Then Cordts said water an’ grass was peterin’ out back on the trail, same as Red Wilson said last week.  Finally he asked, ‘How’s my friend Bostil?’ I told him you was well.  He looked kind of thoughtful then, an’ I knew what was comin’. . . .’How’s the King?’ ‘Grand’ I told him—­’grand.’  ’When is them races comin’ off?’ I said we hadn’t planned the time yet, but it would be soon—­inside of a month or two.  ‘Brackton,’ he said, sharp-like, ’is Bostil goin’ to pull a gun on me at sight?’ ‘Reckon he is,’ I told him.  ’Wal, I’m not powerful glad to know thet. . . .  I hear Creech’s blue hoss will race the King this time.  How about it?’ ‘Sure an’