Brand Blotters

Flatray hesitated. He could kill MacQueen probably, but almost certainly

he and West would pay the penalty. He reluctantly put his rifle down. "All

right. It's your call."

"Where's O'Connor?"

The sheriff looked straight at him. "Haven't you enough of us for one

gather?"

The outlaws were closing in on them cautiously.

"Not without that smart man hunter. Where is he?"

"I don't know."

"The devil you don't."

"We separated early this morning--thought it would give us a better chance

for a getaway." Jack gave a sudden exclamation of surprise. "So it was

Black MacQueen himself who posed as O'Connor down at Mesa."

"Guessed it right, my friend. And I'll tell you one thing: you've made the

mistake of your life butting into Dead Man's Cache. Your missing friend

O'Connor was due to hand in his checks to-day. Since you've taken his

place it will be you that crosses the divide, Mr. Sheriff. You'd better

tell where he is, for if we don't get Mr. Bucky it will be God help J.

Flatray."

The dapper little villain exuded a smug, complacent cruelty. It was no use

for the sheriff to remind himself that such things weren't done nowadays,

that the times of Geronimo and the Apache Kid were past forever. Black

MacQueen would go the limit in deviltry if he set his mind to it.

Yet Flatray answered easily, without any perceptible hesitation: "I reckon

I'll play my hand and let Bucky play his."

"Suits me if it does you. Jeff, collect that hardware. Now, while you boys

beat up the hills for O'Connor, I'll trail back to camp with these two

all-night picnickers."