Hal Colby sat his horse a few yards away, talking with half a dozen men. At sight of Diana Henders he reined about and joined her.

"The boys were just telling me about the latest holdup in Hell's Bend," he said, as they cantered, stirrup to stirrup, out of town. "How's Mack?"

"The doctor says he'll be all right," replied Diana. "Just a bad flesh wound. I don't see why something isn't done to put a stop to these holdups. Gum Smith doesn't seem to care whether he gets The Black Coyote or not."

"Oh, Gum's doin' the best he can," Colby assured her good-naturedly.

"You're too easy, Hal. You never like to say anything against a man, and of course that is right, too; but the lives and property of all of us are under Gum Smith's protection, to a greater or less extent, and if he was the right sort he'd realize his responsibility and make a determined effort to run down this fellow."

"He went out after him with a posse-the boys just told me so. What more can he do?"

"It was half an hour or more after the stage pulled in before Gum started," she retorted. "Does he or anyone else imagine that those two scoundrels are going to wait around the gap until Gum gets there? And he'll be back with his posse right after dark. He'll say he lost the trail, and that'll be the end of it until next time."

The man made no reply and the two rode on in silence for a few minutes.

It was the girl who spoke again first.

"I wonder," she said, who this Black Coyote really is."

"Everybody seems pretty sure it was The Black Coyote," remarked Colby. "How did they know?

"The black silk handkerchief he uses for a mask, and the other ode about his neck," she explained. "It must be the same man. Everyone has noticed these handkerchiefs on one of the men in every holdup in Hell's Bend Pass during the last six months. There is scarce any one that isn't positive that the second man is the Mexican, Gregorio; but no one seems to have recognized the principal."

"I got my own opinion," said Colby.

"What do you mean? Do you know who The Black Coyote really is?"

"I wouldn't want to say that I know, exactly; but I got my own opinion."

"Well!" she urged.

"I wouldn't want to mention no names-until I was shore. But," after a pause, "I'd like to see his cayuse. No one ever sees either his or his pardner's. They keep 'em hid out in the brush alongside the trail; but I got a guess that if anyone ever seed The Black Coyote's pony we'd all know for shore who The Black Coyote is."

She did not insist further when she saw that he was apparently shielding the name of some man whom they both knew, and whom he suspicioned. It was only right that he do this, she thought, and she admired him the more for it. So they talked of other things as they jogged along the dusty road toward home, the man riding a stiff up's width behind that he might feast his eyes upon the profile of his companion. As they neared the ranch they saw the figure of a solitary horseman approaching from the north.

"Looks like Blazes," remarked the girl.

"It is," said the man. "I sent Bull up to Cottonwood this morning. I don't see what he's doin' comin' . in from the north. The Cottonwood trail's almost clue west."

"He might have come back along the foothill trail," suggested Diana.

"He might, but it's farther, an' I never seed a puncher yet that'd ride any farther than you told him to.

"Bull's different," she replied, simply. "If you sent him out for any purpose he'd accomplish it no matter how far he had to ride. He's always been a good hand."

A moment later the ex-foreman joined them where the two trails met. He accorded the girl the customary, "Howdy, Miss," of the times, and nodded to Colby. His mount was streaked with sweat and dust. It was evident that he had been ridden hard.

"Did you find them cows?" asked the foreman.,

Bull nodded.

"In Cottonwood?"

"No. Belter's."

Diana Henders glanced at the foreman as much as to say, "I told you so!" Then, glancing back at Bull, she noticed a reddish brown stain on the side of his shirt, and gave a little exclamation of concern.

"Oh, Bull!" she cried, "you've been hurt-that's blood; isn't it? How did it happen?"

"Oh, that ain't nothin', Miss, just a little scratch," and he closed up, like a clam, spurring ahead of them.

Neither Colby nor the girl spoke, but both were thinking of the same things-that Bull wore a black silk handkerchief about his neck and that Mary Donovan had fired back upon The Black Coyote and his confederate following the holdup in Hell's Bend earlier in the afternoon.

Mrs.