After a short look, one of the men laughed, unpleasantly.

“Sneakin’—­he is,” said the one who laughed.  “Knows we’re campin’ on his trail, an’ reckons on givin’ us the slip.  I never thought Bill would go back on his friends thataway.  We’ll make him sweat, damn him!”

The other cursed, also.  “Hoggin’ it, he is,” he said.  “I ain’t never trusted him.  He won’t divvy, eh?  Well, he won’t need it where he’s goin’.”

Both laughed.  Then one said, coldly:  “Well, I reckon we won’t take chances on losin’ him again—­like we did last night.  We’ll get him right now!”

They urged their horses away from the edge of the gully.  Sanderson could hear the clatter of hoofs, receding.  He had heard, plainly, all the conversation between the two.

There was a grin of slight relief on Sanderson’s face.  The men were not aiming at him, but at the first rider.  It was clear that all were concerned in a personal quarrel which was no concern of Sanderson’s.  It was also apparent to Sanderson that the two men who had halted at the edge of the arroyo were not of the type that contributed to the peace and order of the country.

Plainly, they were of the lower strata of riffraff which had drifted into the West to exact its toll from a people who could not claim the protection of a law that was remote and impotent.

Sanderson suspected that the first rider had been concerned in some lawless transaction with the other two, and that the first rider had decamped with the entire spoils.  That much was indicated by the words of the two.  Dire punishment for the first man was imminent.

Sanderson had no sympathy for the first rider.  He felt, though, a slight curiosity over the probable outcome of the affair, and so, working rapidly, he broke camp, threw saddle and bridle on the white horse, strapped his slicker to the cantle of the saddle, and rode the brown horse up the slope of the arroyo, taking the direction in which the three men had disappeared.

CHAPTER II

A MAN’S CURIOSITY

By the time Sanderson urged the brown horse up the crest of the slope, the men he had determined to follow were far out in the desert.  Sanderson could see them, though the distance was considerable, riding the crest of a ridge, directly northeastward.  As that was following the general direction in which Sanderson wanted to travel he was highly pleased.

“They’re company,” he told himself as he rode; “an’ I’ve been a heap lonesome.”

The men were not traveling fast.  At times, when the first rider was compelled to traverse high ground, Sanderson could see him—­horse and rider faintly outlined against the sky.  Sanderson would note the figure of the first rider, then watch the point at which the first rider appeared until the others reached that point.  Then, noting the elapsed time, he could estimate the distance at which the pursuers followed.