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"We just naturally had to rest our horses," observed Rathburn. "As it is, they're not good for far, nor for any fast riding. Besides, I've changed my mind some since this morning." "So? I suppose you're goin' to give me a chance?" sneeringly inquired the other. He could see Rathburn's eyes in the twilight, and suddenly he shifted in his saddle uneasily.
"You are The Coyote?" she asked in a whisper. "My name is Rathburn, miss," he replied cheerfully. "In some ways I'm a lot like the man described in that reward notice. An' I'm riding a dun-colored horse branded CC2. I don't like that monicker, Coyote, or I might 'fess up to it." "Then if you're him you're an outlaw!" she stammered. Rathburn's dreamy look shifted to the boy who was staring at him.
Rathburn's eyes were narrowing, and the Mexican evidently took his face for an encouraging sign. "Mr. Doane he is not lucky at cards," continued Gomez. "He like to play, and he play lots; but not too well. Maybe he have more luck in love while you are away." "What do you mean?" asked Rathburn through his teeth. "Oh, you do not know?" The Mexican raised his black brows. "While you are away, Mr.
Rathburn's gaze burned into his, but a cool, deliberate light had come into his eyes. "So you're The Coyote!" Percy said quietly. "I should have recognized you." "Yes, I'm called The Coyote," said Rathburn, walking slowly toward him. "I'm the man they think robbed that joint down in Dry Lake last night. I'm the man they're looking for. I'm the man they want to make pay for your bungling work.
"I guess those are the best trails from what you say," was Rathburn's yawning comment. "Them's the best," the other added. "There's another trail going out below town that follows southeast along a big ridge, but that trail's as far as the road. When you goin' up?" "I dunno," replied Rathburn noncommittally. "Say, I guess I know where that cabin is on the left side of the road going up.
As he dashed into the cañon, bullets sang past him and over his head. Then a cry of amazement came to his ears. "It's The Coyote!" a man was yelling. "Rathburn's back!" He dashed into the shelter of the defile, a grim smile playing on his lips. He had been recognized. His face hardened. He rounded a huge boulder, checked his horse, and dismounted.
Now Gomez had identified this visitor as Doane, the man who had been calling on Laura Mallory regularly. Rathburn's brows wrinkled at the thought. But why not? What hold had he upon her? It certainly wasn't within his rights to resent the fact that another man had found the girl attractive. But, to his increasing torment, he found that he did resent it; he couldn't help it!
There was a glint in Rathburn's eyes as he uttered the last sentence. Instead of flying into a rage, Mannix laughed. "Don't kid yourself," he said grimly. "You're not the man who held up this truck driver." He gave Rathburn back his gun, to the latter's surprise. Then he waved toward Rathburn's horse. "Go ahead," he said, smiling. "General eastern direction, wasn't it?
He had not yet obtained Rathburn's gun, and he recognized the unmistakable signs of a seasoned gunman in the lounging but graceful postures of his prisoner, in the way he moved his right hand, in the alertness of his eye. He frowned, for Rathburn was smiling. There was a quality to that smile which was not lost upon the doughty officer.
"Step up here, Mannix, an' listen to what this fellow has to say," was Rathburn's reply. "Men," he called in a loud voice, "I'm lookin' to you to give your mine boss an' your deputy sheriff a fair deal." There was a murmur among the men. Mannix, after a moment of hesitation, stepped forward. Rathburn swung on Sautee.
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