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 thought they'd throw a scare into you. They didn't count Alvino in, the wicked old devil!"

"No, they didn't count Alvino in," said Barrett, slowly, seeing again the knife-point protruding through the half-breed's breast. "Nor Fred Grubb—they didn't count him in, either."

"Poor old Fred! He's been the victim of so many of their pleasantries he couldn't tell a joke the length of his arm away in broad daylight," said Alma.

"It cost a man his life," Barrett reminded her. "However unworthy, he was a man, You knew—" to Manuel, facing him sharply—"that man came to camp to make trouble?"

"To keel you, señor."

"Did he tell you that, Manuel?" Alma challenged him, almost craftily, it seemed to Barrett, in her sudden desire to establish the whole affair as a pleasantly designed thing with an unfortunate ending in tragedy. She had recovered quickly from her shocked, horrified concern. She was of the blood of the cattle barons, in whom she could see no wrong.

"Did he tell you that?" she demanded again, in growing severity.

"He did not tell me," Manuel replied.

"Well, don't you know it's dangerous to go around guessing such things?"

"He did not tell me, but I knew. Before I—señorita, I knew."

"How did you know? Who told you?" she insisted, with the bullying severity of one accustomed to break ing down obstacles to her will.