Waring rode to the hotel, dismounted, and strode in casually, pausing at
Stanley's door. The cashier answered his knock.

"I'm off," said Waring. "And I'll need some money."

"All right, Jim. What's up? How much?"

"A couple of hundred. Charge it back to my account. Got it?"

"No. I'll get it at the desk."

"All right. Settle my bill for me to-morrow. Don't stop to dress.
Rustle!"

A belated lounger glanced up in surprise as Waring, booted and spurred,
entered the lobby with a man in pajamas. They talked with the clerk a
moment, shook hands, and Waring strode to the doorway.

"Any word for the Ortez people?" queried Stanley as Waring mounted.

"I left a little notice for Donovan--at Pedro Salazar's house," said
Waring. "Donovan will understand." And Waring was gone.

The lounger accosted Stanley. "What's the row, Stanley?"

"I don't know. Jim Waring is in a hurry--first time since I've known
him. Figure it out yourself."

Back in Pedro Salazar's corral a man lay huddled in a dim corner, his
sightless eyes open to the soft radiance of the Sonora moon. A group of