She obeyed him mutely, with a
submission as unquestioning as that of the rough crowd in front of them.
Very gently he took the revolver from her, drew one out of his own pocket
also, and handed both to the big man called Nixon who had come to his
side.
"You look after these!" he said.
"One is my property. The other belongs to Fletcher Hill--who is my
prisoner. Now, boys, you're armed. I'm not. You won't shoot the lady, I
know. And for myself I'll take my chance."
"Guess you won't be any the worse for that," grinned Nixon, at his elbow.
Warden's smile gleamed for an instant in answer, but he passed swiftly
on. "Did you ever hear of a cattle-thief called Buckskin Bill? He
flourished in these parts some five years ago. There was no mine in
Barren Valley then. It was just--a smugglers' stronghold."
Some of the men in front of him stirred uneasily. "What's this to do with
Fletcher Hill?" asked one.
"I'll tell you," said Warden. "Buckskin Bill, the cattle-thief, was in a
tight corner, and he took refuge in Barren Valley. He found the
smugglers' _cache_--and he found something else that the smugglers didn't
know of. He found--gold. It's a queer thing, boys, but he'd decided--for
private reasons--to give up the cattle-lifting just two days before. The
police were hot after him, but they didn't catch him and the smugglers
didn't catch him either. He dodged 'em all, and when he left he said to
himself, 'I'll be the boss of Barren Valley when I come back.
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