The sun had rushed behind the distant mountains, and the dusk was gathering in the gulch when Pop Howes rode up to the American Beauty and dismounted. His face was worried and haggard. He had had a long talk with his friend, Hard-rock Hogan, but neither of them could think of any way by which they could raise sufficient money to save the American Beauty from the clutches of the Black Rock Bank. Another week and the bank would automatically take possession, unless Pop could raise the necessary cash to pay the interest and part of the loan.

Jim Allen was waiting for him, and before Pop entered the house, the little outlaw drew him aside and talked rapidly for several minutes.

“That would be a fool thing to do!” Pop complained. “What you got in your head now?”

“Yuh do like I say; yuh trot down to the post office an’ pretend to get that letter; then yuh tell two or three people on the quiet what I just tol’ yuh to. Yuh act happy an’ glad—make believe you’re a little drunk—an’ then tell a coupla more folks. Then yuh come back here, get your ol’ lady, an’ sneak over to Hard-rock’s place an’ lay low. I’ll do the rest, an’ don’t yuh worry none. I ain’t sure she works, but if she does, mebbe yuh won’t lose your mine!” Jim spoke confidently and grinned one of his broad, likable grins.

Pop grumbled and complained about being left in the dark as to just what Allen intended to do, but at length he consented to do what Allen asked. He told his wife that he had to go to town with Jim Allen. And as Jim saw the look of worry that crossed her face, he realized she must have known all the while that the Mexican boy had been killed by mistake for her husband.

“Don’t worry none, ma’am. I stick close to him an’ he won’t get hurt none!” Allen reassured her.

The woman watched them, as the famous outlaw walked down the path beside her husband, whose tall, gaunt form made Allen seem smaller than ever. Behind them trotted Allen’s two gray horses. One was saddled and the other carried a small pack. Mrs. Howes felt no fear now for her husband; those two low-hung guns that Allen wore brought her a feeling of confidence that her man would return safely.

Dusk had given way to night by the time the two arrived in Goldville. The miners were streaming into town, and the saloons were rapidly filling. Most of the miners were Mexicans, but there were a few husky, broad-shouldered Americans among them.

Allen left his grays at the hitching rack before the Ace High and followed Pop Howes through the milling crowd toward the post office. Pop entered and then reappeared a moment later with a letter in his hand. Allen watched him as he ripped it open and read it by the light cast from the office window.

“Huh! It’s supposed to be good news, an’ Pop acts like it was an invitation to a funeral,” Jim grumbled. “He’s sure a bum actor!”

After Pop had consumed a few drinks, an optimistic conviction came to him that this plan of Allen’s, although he did not know just what it was, would work and the little outlaw would save his mine. So he no longer acted the part of a man who has just been saved from disaster, but in reality felt like one.

“Hello, Pop!” Bill Tucker greeted him. “Yuh look like the cat what just swallered the canary!”

“I sure feel all set up. Have a drink. I’m sorta celebrating.”

The two drained their glasses, and Pop ostentatiously drew the letter from his pocket, glanced at it, and then returned it, with a self-satisfied smile. The ruse worked perfectly.

“Did yuh get good news in the mail to-night?” the marshal asked.

“You betcha!” Pop hesitated and then added in a whisper: “I ain’t supposed to say nothin’—for some reason the gent wants me to keep it under my shirt—but he’s goin’ to buy a quarter interest in the American Beauty for five thousan’ dollars!”

“Who is he? Who’s the darn fool?” Bill Tucker’s genial manner dropped from him like a cloak, and he snapped out the question.

“He ain’t no darn fool! He’s connected with the bank an’ knows that the youngster what examined the American Beauty reported I’m due to hit the El Dorado lode!” Pop said aggrievedly and convincingly.

“What’s this gent’s name?” Tucker asked.

“I ain’t tellin’ that!” Pop shook his head.

“Reckon I better have a look aroun’,” the marshal said as he swung around and headed toward the door. Then, as an afterthought, he called back over his shoulder: “I’m darn glad yuh got the money.”

Pop Howes had another drink, then wandered across the street to the Ace High. Here he found Hard-rock Hogan and confided his good news to him in a whisper which was clearly audible to several men standing near. By the time Pop had had another two drinks and had repeated the story several more times, always in confidence, he began to believe it himself and gave it a real ring of truth.

Jim-twin Allen followed him about and watched him. Several times he chuckled to himself.

“Darn me, if Pop ain’t turnin’ into a real fancy liar!”

Presently Allen wandered out and started a search of the various saloons. He found the man he sought playing stud poker in the back room of the Red Blood Saloon at the far edge of town. Allen whispered to him and went out again; he walked out of town a short distance, seated himself on a rock, and started whistling.

“Slivers” Hart, the young card player, waited several minutes and then cashed in his chips and left the bar. He was very slender and but a few inches taller than Allen. He had straw-colored hair and laughing, reckless eyes, but his mouth was hard and bitter.

“Hello, Slivers! I want yuh to do me a favor,” Allen greeted him a few moments later.

“Yuh saved me from wearin’ a necktie once, so shoot,” the other said quietly.

“’Tain’t much. I want yuh to go to the other end of the town an’ sorta watch an’ see if any one leaves in a hurry,” directed Allen. “Then, if some one comes a-runnin’ back, an’ if he’s a plumb important person, sorta foller him an’ see where he goes.”

“Is that all?”

“Yep, for now.”

Allen suddenly remembered he had not eaten that evening. After Slivers left him, he went into a Chinese restaurant, hastily devoured a steak, and then wandered back to the Ace High. He saw Pop sitting with several friends at a table in the rear. As Jim neared a group of men standing at the bar they grew silent, and he knew they had been discussing Jack Allen. He ordered a drink.

“Yuh driftin’ to-night? I see yuh got your grays all packed,” the bartender said genially.

“Reckon so. I hears tell that brother of mine is goin’ to post his list to-morrow, so I figgers on gettin’ out of town afore he tells me to get.” Allen grinned.

He waited and consumed another drink before going outside. At the hitching rail he swung onto the back of his saddled horse and waved his hand toward a group of loafers.

“S’long, fellers! To hell with this town, I say!” he called back with a laugh.

And, riding slowly, Jim-twin Allen passed down the street and out of the town. A mile farther on he climbed the banks of the gulch and hid his grays in a clump of trees. Then he hurried back toward town, his rifle under one arm. He skirted Goldville and cautiously approached the trail that led to the American Beauty. Here he found Slivers Hart waiting for him.

“About an hour ago a feller went by so fast I couldn’t tell who it was,” Slivers informed him.

“I’m bettin’ my hunch is plumb correct,” said Allen, grinning, “an’, if I ain’t mistaken, another gent will come a-runnin’ pronto.”

The two men waited. Minutes passed; several hours elapsed. Drunken Mexicans singing ribald songs staggered up the trail toward the mines. At last Allen heard what he was waiting for—the drumming of a hard-ridden horse’s hoofs.

“When he comes, follow him an’ see who he talks to, then beat it to the American Beauty, an’ don’t let no one see yuh arrivin’ there,” Allen warned.

Slivers nodded, and the moment the horseman passed he started in pursuit. The rider had pulled his mount down to a slow trot, and Slivers was able to keep him in sight.

A short time later, Jim Allen heard Pop Howes and Hard-rock Hogan coming from the direction of town. Pop was talking loudly and joyously. Allen waited until they were a short distance away and then glided like a shadow up the trail before them. He did not expect there would be any attempt on Pop’s life until later, but he dared not take chances, so he searched the trail carefully for a possible ambush.

The three arrived at the American Beauty, where Allen told Mrs. Howes that she and her husband were to spend the night with Hard-rock. Pop grumbled at not being allowed to stay to see the fun, but Allen insisted the whole scheme might fall through unless Pop obeyed orders. So the old couple departed.

It was an hour before Allen was joined by Slivers Hart, whose eyes were snapping from excitement.

“That gent on the horse was Steve Brandon!” he cried.

“Steve Brandon! Hadn’t expected that!” Allen grew thoughtful. “But, of course, that’s it. He would know that the El Dorado vein would be found again on this side!”

Young Hart related what he had seen. “Steve hits the steps of the Ace High two at a time. He is in a plumb big hurry. He grabs Bill Tucker, an’ they goes to a corner an’ whispers. I slide up, but can’t hear much, only somethin’ about ‘double-crossin’ sneak; he’ll go to jail if he tries it. Things don’t pan out to-night. Time to sick Jack Allen on——’ I couldn’t ketch the name. Then I hears Bill whisper clear: ‘If things don’t pan out to-night, yuh got to write to Ed to put the screws on Thornton——’ Then they sees me an’ sorta glares, an’ I walks off innocent-like!” Slivers declared triumphantly.

Allen smiled with satisfaction.

“I figger that part about things pannin’ out to-night means gun play, an’ I hereby declare myself in!” Slivers said positively.

“Don’t worry none. You’re playin’ decoy, an’ decoys sometimes gets plugged plenty!” Allen assured him cheerfully.

All was still within the house an hour later. A low-turned lamp burned in the living room, and a man sat in a chair asleep. Outside, two shadows glided up the trail and carefully picked their way toward the house. A foot snapped a twig, and both shadows sank to the ground. A pause, and they again crept toward the house. They hugged the wall and slowly turned the corner and approached the lighted sitting-room window.

Behind them came another shadow, a strange thing that looked as if it were part animal and part man. A hunched beast. Yellow eyes glowed in the darkness.

The first two shadows peered through the window, and one whispered: “Yuh knock, an’ I’ll watch.”

While one shadow remained by the window, the other knocked loudly on the door. The shadow by the window glided forward and joined the one by the door, while the third shadow moved closely behind them.

“He’s comin’,” came in a hoarse whisper.

“Who’s there?” called a voice from inside the house.

“This is Hard-rock. Open up, Pop,” the answer came.

A sound of a door being unbolted, a creak of hinges, and a shadowy figure appeared in the doorway. Two streams of red fire, the boom of two shotguns split the night. Then a long streak of jagged red flame coming from the crouching third shadow. A scream of agony, of surprise, of terror! A sound of falling bodies, and then silence.

“Come on out, Slivers! I got ’em both,” Allen called, as he straightened up.

Slivers appeared at the doorway and cautiously peered down at the two sprawled figures.

“Hell! I thought I was goin’ to get in on the gun play,” he grumbled. Then he added: “Hey! Them fellas must have used cannon, ’cause they sure peppered ol’ Pop’s overcoat an’ hat!”

Allen glanced at the straw-stuffed overcoat lying on the floor. It was riddled by buckshot.

“Pop would sure be in kingdom come if he had been in that coat. Take a look at them fellers, Slivers,” Allen directed.

Slivers stooped and examined the two bodies by the light of a match.

“One of ’em is Ben Jones what works for Steve Brandon, an’ tother is Big Anderson who works for the Blue Sky,” Slivers announced.

“Anderson will know better the next time not to mix with the Allens.” Jim Allen grinned at his joke, and Slivers chuckled.

“Take a look at Anderson’s hands an’ see if they looks like a miner’s hands,” suggested the little man.

“Naw, not a callous on ’em,” Slivers announced a moment later. “That gent never worked none with a drill.”

“Thought so. Reckon I knows now where Baldy Kane gets that there gold he is so proud about.”

“Yuh mean he steals it an’ then pertends to mine it?” Slivers asked. “I get you. Quartz is plumb heavy to move an’ hard to market, if yuh don’t have a mine.”

“Correct! An’ I figgers I knows why certain gents got Jack down here!”

“They’re double crossin’ Baldy an’ plannin’ to have Jack drop him, ’cause they is scared to do it themselves!” Slivers whistled softly.

“Correct again,” Allen said dryly. “Darn it! I knows everythin’, but Jack won’t believe me, ’cause I ain’t got legal proof! That’s the worst of tryin’ to do things lawfully. Reckon I’ll have to stick to outlaws’ law,” he grumbled.