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 pletely, since he came to the range.

"He ain't alone, Ed. He's got three or four fellers with him, maybe more. Boy, they'd eat you up like a redish."

Barrett rode on, his face solemn and determined, thinking it over.

"No, he's alone," he declared. "Findlay's not the man to stick to his friends in trouble—he'll throw them and go his way alone. And he's not a man to split with anybody else, either. What he's got cached he's going to carry away in his own jeans, if he can."

"I think you're right about that, but you're wrong about goin' alone. I'm goin' with you. You'd be like a blind colt on this range without a guide—you said so yourself."

Barrett was kind, but sternly firm. He would see what could be done for Nearing if he still lived, bury him if dead, and then turn his face to the range.

"I'll make one complete job of it, one way or another," he declared. "Can't you see it's cut out for me alone, Fred?"

"No, I can't see it any whichaway," said Fred.

He argued, he begged, he swore softly under his breath at such behavior, which he declared beat his time. 'And he kept up his argument and soft swearing, all to no purpose, until Barrett pulled up suddenly and pointed ahead.

A single horseman was cutting the trail two miles or more ahead of them, coming from the shelter of an arroyo. When he struck the trail, he bore straight onward.