“I’ll divide this sack when I git good an’ ready,” declared Sandy.

“But, pard, thet’s no square deal,” protested Old Miles.  “I’m a-gittin’ mad.  I seen you meant to keep it all.”

The dark-faced ruffian shoved a menacing fist under Sandy’s nose. 
“When do I git mine?” he demanded.

Fresno wheeled and called, “Frank, you come here!”

The other approached sullenly.  “Fresno, thet Sandy is whole hog or none!” he exclaimed.

“Let ’em fight it out,” replied Fresno.  “We’ve got a bigger game....  Besides, they’ll shoot each other up.  Then we’ll hev it all.  Come, give ’em elbow room.”

He led Allie and his horse away a little distance.

“Fetch them packs, Frank,” he called.  The mustang followed, and presently Frank came with one of the packs.  Fresno slipped the saddle from his horse, and, laying it under a tree, he pulled gun and rifle from their sheaths.  The gun he stuck in his belt; the rifle he leaned against a branch.

“Sandy’ll plug Old Miles in jest another minnit,” remarked Fresno.

“What’s this other game?” queried Frank, curiously.

“It’s gold, Frank—­gold,” replied Fresno; and in few words he told his comrade about Horn’s buried treasure.  But he did not mention the condition under which the girl would reveal its hiding-place.  Evidently he had no doubt that he could force her to tell.

“Let’s rustle,” cried Frank, his dark face gleaming.  “We want to git out of this country quick.”

“You bet!  An’ I wonder when we’ll be fetchin’ up with them railroad camps we heerd about ...  Camps full of gold an’ whisky an’ wimmen!”

“We’ve enough on our hands now,” replied Frank.  “Let’s rustle fer thet—­”

A gun-shot interrupted him.  Then a hoarse curse rang out—­and then two more reports from a different gun.

“Them last was Sandy’s,” observed Fresno, coolly.  “An’ of course they landed ...  Go see if Old Miles hit Sandy.”

Frank strode off under the trees.

Allie had steeled herself to anything, and those shots warned her that now she had two less enemies to contend with, and that she must be quick to seize the first opportunity to act.  She could leap upon the mustang, and if she was lucky she could get away.  She could jump for the Winchester and surely shoot one of these villains, perhaps both of them.  But the spirit that gave her the nerve to attempt either plan bade her wait, not too long, but longer, in the hope of a more favorable moment.

Frank returned to Fresno, and he carried the sack of gold that had caused dissension.  Fresno laughed.

“Sandy’s plugged hard—­low down,” said Frank.  “He can’t live.  An’ Old Miles is croaked.”

“A-huh!  Frank, I’ll go git the other packs.  An’ you see what’s in this sack,” said Fresno.

When he got out of sight, Allie slipped the lasso from her waist.

“I don’t need that hanging to me,” she said.