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"Hand that stuff over," he commanded the men who still held bits of the Mexican's specimens. "It belongs to Joe, and no man's going to be robbed here under my nose, Mex or White."

The look which Mexicali Joe shot at his protector had in it far more of suspicion than of gratitude. But his grimy fingers were eager enough in snatching back the pieces of quartz from reluctant palms. Grown sullen, he returned to his corn whiskey, drinking slowly, and holding his tongue. When men asked him the inevitable quick questions he either shrugged impatiently or ignored them altogether. They looked at one another, and an understanding sprang up on the instant between big Barny McCuin and some of the others. Presently Barny went out, followed by the men who had caught his glance. Young Gallup, with eyes narrowing and growing darker, watched them go.

"They'll get you outside, Joe," he said bluntly. "And they'll make you open up for all you know."

Joe shifted uneasily; in his heart he knew himself for a poor fool caught up between the devil, which was Gallup, and the deep sea.