that Moran held to the open bottoms and used no caution in his approach that he expected to find none but friends. Hard experience in the old days at the Bar T had taught Flash many things. He knew that he must be with some man in order to be safe from others. When alone, all men shot at him on sight. Therefore, he did not forge ahead for a first view of the camp as most dogs would have done but turned the corner of the spur a few feet behind Moran.
Several men who lounged there eyed them curiously as they approached. While Moran was still fifty yards away one of them rolled over and set his toe against a large, blackened coffee pot, pushing it into the edge of the smoldering fire. Distances are far in the western hills and the first thought is that any approaching stranger should be fed. The man’s move had been almost an unconscious one from long experience. They all nodded a greeting as Moran came up and another man pulled a tarp from over the remains of their noonday meal.
“Thanks, boys, but I’ve fed,” Moran, declined. He sat down cross-legged and rolled a cigarette from the makings which one of them offered him.
One of them questioned Moran as to the likeli-
