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“Never you mind, Duster,” muttered the scout. “Did you ever see a skunk-trap? Oughts is for mush-rats, and number ones is mostly used for ‘coons and ‘possums, and I guess they’d do for a skunk. But you and we’ll call this here trap a number two, Duster, for the skunk I’m after is a big one. All you’ve to do is to act natural.”

Cutler took the rope off the stump by which Duster had been tied securely, wound and strapped it to the tilted saddle, and instead of this former tether, made a weak knot in the reins, and tossed them over the stump. He entered the cabin with a countenance sweeter than honey.

“Good-evening, boys,” he said. “Why, Toussaint, how do you do?”

The hand of Toussaint had made a slight, a very slight, movement towards his hip, but at sight of Cutler’s mellow smile resumed its clasp upon his knee.

“Golly, but you’re gay-like this evening,” said Kelley.

“Blamed if I knowed he could look so frisky,” added Loomis.

“Sporting his onced-a-year coat,” Kelley pursued. “That ain’t for our benefit, Joole.”

“No, we’re not that high in society.” Both these cheerful waifs had drifted from the Atlantic coast westward.

Cutler looked from them to his costume, and then amiably surveyed the half-breed.

“Well, boys, I’m in big luck, I am. How’s yourn nowadays, Toussaint?”

“Pretty good sometime. Sometime heap hell.” The voice of the half-breed came as near heartiness as its singularly false quality would allow, and as he smiled he watched Cutler with the inside of his eyes.

The scout watched nobody and nothing with great care, looked about him pleasantly, inquired for the whiskey, threw aside hat and gloves, sat down, leaning the chair back against the wall, and talked with artful candor. “Them sprigs of lieutenants down there,” said he, “they’re a surprising lot for learning virtue to a man. You take Balwin. Why, he ain’t been out of the Academy only two years, and he’s been telling me how card-playing ain’t good for you. And what do you suppose he’s been and offered Jarvis Cutler for a job? I’m to be wagon-master.” He paused, and the half-breed’s attention to his next words increased. “Wagon-master, and good pay, too. Clean up to the Black Hills; and the troops’ll move soon as ever them reinforcements come. Drinks on it, boys! Set ’em up, Joole Loomis. My contract’s sealed with some of Uncle Sam’s cash, and I’m going to play it right here. Hello! Somebody coming to join us? He’s in a hurry.”

There was a sound of lashing straps and hoofs beating the ground, and Cutler looked out of the door. As he had calculated, the saddle had gradually turned with Duster’s movements and set the pony bucking.

“Stampeded!” said the scout, and swore the proper amount called for by such circumstances. “Some o’ you boys help me stop the durned fool.”

Loomis and Kelley ran. Duster had jerked the prepared reins from the cottonwood, and was lurching down a small dry gulch, with the saddle bouncing between his belly and the stones.

Cutler cast a backward eye at the cabin where Toussaint had stayed behind alone. “Head him off below, boys, and I’ll head him off above,” the scout sang out. He left his companions, and quickly circled round behind the cabin, stumbling once heavily, and hurrying on, anxious lest the noise had reached the lurking half-breed. But the ivory-handled pistol, jostled from its holster, lay unheeded among the stones where he had stumbled. He advanced over the rough ground, came close to the logs, and craftily peered in at the small window in the back of the cabin. It was evident that he had not been heard. The sinister figure within still sat on the table, but was crouched, listening like an animal to the shouts that were coming from a safe distance down in the gulch. Cutler, outside of the window, could not see the face of Toussaint, but he saw one long brown hand sliding up and down the man’s leg, and its movement put him in mind of the tail of a cat. The hand stopped to pull out a pistol, into which fresh cartridges were slipped. Cutler had already done this same thing after dismounting, and he now felt confident that his weapon needed no further examination. He did not put his hand to his holster. The figure rose from the table, and crossed the room to a set of shelves in front of which hung a little yellow curtain. Behind it were cups, cans, bottles, a pistol, counters, red, white, and blue, and two fresh packs of cards, blue and pink, side by side. Seeing these, Toussaint drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and unwrapped two further packs, both blue; and at this Cutler’s intent face grew into plain shape close to the window, but receded again into uncertain dimness. From down in the gulch came shouts that the runaway horse was captured. Toussaint listened, ran to the door, and quickly returning, put the blue pack from the shelf into his pocket, leaving in exchange one of his own. He hesitated about altering the position of the cards on the shelf, but Kelley and Loomis were unobservant young men, and the half-breed placed the pink cards on top of his blue ones. The little yellow curtain again hung innocently over the shelves, and Toussaint, pouring himself a drink of whiskey, faced round, and for the first time saw the window that had been behind his back. He was at it in an instant, wrenching its rusty pin, that did not give, but stuck motionless in the wood. Cursing, he turned and hurried out of the door and round the cabin. No one was there. Some hundred yards away the noiseless Cutler crawled farther among the thickets that filled the head of the gulch. Toussaint whipped out a match, and had it against his trousers to strike and look if there were footprints, when second thoughts warned him this might be seen, and was not worth risking suspicion over, since so many feet came and went by this cabin. He told himself no one could have been there to see him, and slowly returned inside, with a mind that fell a hair’s breadth short of conviction.