After leaving the Lazy S behind, Robinson rode in silence for some time. He was in the lead. The puncher behind held the lariat which bound Robinson to his horse.  
"You got that gun of mine with you?" asked Robinson. No answer from behind. "Well, I seen Buck hand her to you. Be mighty careful with her; she's got a special easy pull. I'd be right sorry to have you point her my way."
 
No answer. The puncher was a sullen brute of a man.
 
"You fellers made one real mistake," went on Robinson, undaunted by the silence, his voice cheerful as ever. "You should ha' fixed that gun o' mine. Miguel was killed by two bullets, wasn't he? But that gun ain't been fired, cowboy. You'd better set that right 'fore turning me in to the sheriff. Otherwise Tracy would have to fix the gun his ownself, and he might forget it."
 
An oath from the rider behind apprised Robinson that his words had taken full effect. He grinned slightly. A moment later his horse started as a gun was fired in the air. Looking over his shoulder, Robinson saw the puncher in the act of firing the second time.
 
"Two shots is plenty," he observed. "That's real friendly of you, cowboy. I'd hate to spoil everything by not havin' fired that there weapon."
 
The sullen rider gave him a malevolent glance and motioned ahead. Robinson turned and made no further overtures.
 
They jogged on in silence, the hoofs raising a slow cloud of dust that followed and drifted over them with the breeze of noonday. For half an hour neither man spoke a word, and then Robinson again ventured an effort:
 
"You three gents must ha' been planted when I rode by and spoke with Cervantes. Ain't that the way of it now?"
 
No response at all. Robinson chuckled.
 
"I guess that's it, feller. Buck seen me, and got a great idea. Looks like he was dead right about it, too. Only thing that worries me is this: Who fired the two shots? Each o' these hosses has a rifle, but they was a third puncher along with you. However, that don't matter right now. The three of you was planted, seen me, and let me go past. That was actin' real clever toward me, as they say down south. Ever been down thataway, feller? You come down some day and get you a job on the SF Ranch below Pecos City. I'll help you get it any old time. Sam Fisher owns her. He's a smart young feller, they do say, only he don't justify his reputation much. Least, that's what Jake Harper says."
 
"Hold your jaw!" came the savage command from behind.
 
Robinson glanced over his shoulder and beheld another cloud of dust far behind them. His captor jerked on the lariat, and continued:
 
"Robinson, you start any talkin' and you'll never reach town alive. I means it. When that gent comes up, if he ain't Buck you lay low."
 
"Conceded," returned Robinson. "I'll not say a word, providin' you tell me where Murphy went to."
 
"What you so dummed curious about Murphy for?"
 
"Born that way and can't help it. Tell me, and I won't say a word."
 
"Well, Murphy he went to town, I guess. Satisfied?"
 
"Plenty." Robinson looked straight ahead at the road, and grinned to himself.
 
Behind the two the cloud of dust moved rapidly closer. The Running Dog rider turned often in his saddle with uneasy scrutiny, but to make out the figure of the rider was impossible, for the breeze was stiffly behind them and blew the dust ahead.
 
Thus it was not until the drum of hoofs behind was distinctly audible that Robinson heard a low oath issue from his captor.
 
"It's that fool Arnold from the Circle Bar! You, Robinson, keep your trap shut!"
 
Robinson grinned and made no response. But a moment later he looked over his shoulder, and remained looking.
 
Arnold was spurring his cayuse after the pair. Now he sent a hoarse yell ahead—a yell which caused the Running Dog man to jerk up his mount and turn, hand on gun.
 
"Put 'em up!" yelled Arnold again.
 
"Take it, if ye want it," growled the puncher, and drew.
 
Before his gun spoke, Steve Arnold fired—and fired again. Then Arnold came riding up to the plunging horse and fallen man, swearing huge oaths as he did so; the vivid flame of hatred in his face was terrible to see.
 
"Steve, I'm right s'prised in you," said Robinson calmly. Arnold whirled on him.
 
"You didn't see it!" he cried, his voice cracking. "You didn't see it—I did! This here guy was one of the two—him and Buck done it. They shot down Miguel, murdered him, never said a word, jest let drive from the brush! By gosh, it was all I could do not to let drive on 'em—not a mite of warning, but two shots!"
 
The face of Robinson was grave, sternly set, ten years older.
 
"Was it as bad as that?" he queried. "Turn me loose, Steve!"
 
Arnold came up and fumbled at the knots. Tears of excitement were on his dusty cheeks.
 
"The dirty skunks!" he cried. "It was low down, Red—the worst I ever dreamed of. This guy was one of the two. But I give him warning; you heard me? I warned him 'fore I shot him down."
 
"You done so, Steve," affirmed Robinson, rubbing his freed wrists. "What happened after they shot Cervantes?"
 
"They left Chuck Hansom with him, and follered you. I snuck past Chuck and follered them, lay up and circled around the Lazy S house. Seen Murphy go, then seen you put into the saddle. After that I follered along until I heard the two shots, and that was all."
 
Robinson reached for the rifle that was booted at the saddle before him.
 
"This is Buck's horse, Steve," he said gravely. "And Buck's rifle. Now, lookin' down the barrel, you'll agree with me that she's been fired real lately—and there's a trace o' fumes to prove it. That's proof aplenty for Buck. Let's look at this gent's rifle."
 
The rifle from the other saddle had also been fired recently. Robinson looked down at the dead man and shook his head sadly.
 
"You fellows," he observed, "have been sowing the wind up in this county—and now you're going to reap the whirlwind. You'll reap it good and plenty, and she'll strike sudden; she always does. Steve! Can you swear to it that Buck fired one of the shots?"
 
"I seen him rise up with his gun a-smokin'," averred Steve Arnold.
 
"Then let's you and me lay off of Buck entirely." Robinson smiled harshly at the dead man. "We'll get him when the time comes—and let the law deal with him."
 
"Law?" Arnold swore scornfully. "Lot o' law in this county! You'd never get Tracy to arrest Buck even!"
 
Robinson regarded him a moment, the blue eyes keen and hard.
 
"C'rect the first shot, sure's my name's Jack Robinson! But I don't aim to have Tracy do any arrestin'. The main thing right now is that Buck is back at the Lazy S fillin' Stella full o' fancy lies, and she thinkin' I'm in jail for the murder of poor Cervantes."
 
"Oh! So that's why they had you tied up?" queried Steve Arnold.
 
"Somethin' like that." Robinson smiled. "Steve, can I trust you to turn in back there and say nothin'—keep your head level—just be nice and polite to Buck and his man Chuck Hansom? Can ye do it, cowboy?"
 
"Can if I got to. Why?"
 
"Then go do it, and stick around till you gets a chance to wise up Stella to the facts of the case. Take Buck's rifle; we may need a real gun 'fore we get through. I'll ride this feller's hoss and take his Winchester. Buck's hoss we'll send home by his ownself."
 
Suiting action to words, Robinson took the bridle of the dead man's mount, then with a slap and a wave of his hat sent Buck's beast careering down the road. Arnold sat looking down at him darkly.
 
"Where you goin', Red?"
 
Robinson's old quizzical smile broke forth. "Me? I got to get to town in time to call for some mail——"
 
"To town, ye durned fool! Ridin' a Runnin' Dog cayuse? Here, you take this hoss o' mine and I'll take—"
 
"And give our game away to Buck? Not on your young life, cowboy! I want Mr. Buck to think I'm safe behind the bars—until he gets home and finds his own hoss, anyhow. Nope, you amble along and don't waste worry over me. Your job is to take the worry off Stella's mind, savvy?"
 
"You've got mighty well acquainted, Red. Callin' her Stella, huh?"
 
"That's my specialty." With a laugh, Robinson was in the saddle and turning his horse toward town. "See you later. If you take a notion, I'll prob'ly be in town until about eight o'clock to-night. And mind, you leave Buck be! He'll hang for that murder!"
 
With this he put spurs to his cayuse and careered down the road in a cloud of dust. Steve Arnold looked after him, scowled down at the dead man, then reined about and started on the back trail. He was quivering, tremulous with a stern excitement.
 
"My first man!" He looked back at the motionless figure, then straightened in the saddle. "Well, I s'pose it had to come some time—and I'm glad I paid out the cuss for what he done at the spring. Question is, can I git to town 'fore eight o'clock to-night? Red, he's sure aimin' to raise Cain with somebody there."
 
When at length he dismounted at the Lazy S, he was met by Buck and Chuck Hansom, the latter a cheerful scoundrel who sported an Indian beadwork vest and was credited with an aptitude for any deviltry.
 
"Howdy, Steve!" greeted Buck. "Jest come from town? Meet anybody?"
 
"Uh-huh." Arnold busied himself unsaddling. "Done heard the news. Met that hombre of yourn with his pris'ner in tow. Brought in Cervantes, have you?"
 
Buck nodded gravely. "Where's Jake Harper, d'you know?"
 
"Home, I reckon. His rheumatiz was right bad this mornin'," said Arnold coolly. "Miss Stella inside? I got a letter for her."
 
"I'll take it in," proffered Jake. "She's right cut up about Miguel. I don't guess you'd better bother her now, Steve——"
 
Arnold's hand fell to his gun. So deadly was his face in that moment that Buck instinctively took a step backward.
 
"I'm carryin' my own mail," said Arnold. "You fellers object?"
 
"Of course not," said Buck hastily. "What ye tryin' to do—stir up trouble a time like this? Miss Stella wants to git Jake here. Goin' over to the ranch real soon?"
 
"I don't aim to." Arnold gave him look for look. "If she's done asked you to fetch Jake, you fetch him. I got business of my own; I ain't ridin' for Jake no more."
 
"You ain't!" exclaimed Buck, staring. "Listen! I got room for you——"
 
"Not for me, you ain't!" and with a slow laugh Steve Arnold went into the house.
 
The other two looked after him, then glanced at each other. Chuck Hansom uttered a chuckle, and touched Buck's arm.
 
"I guess you 'n' me had better go find Jake ourselves, Buck. What say?"
 
Buck nodded. His work here was done for the moment. He was well satisfied with it.