"Hop up behind me now and we'll go home." The gloom, that all day had seemed to overshadow Phil, was effectually banished by the excitement of the incident, and he was again his sunny, cheerful self.

As they rode, they chatted and laughed merrily.

Then, suddenly, as it had happened that morning, the cowboy was again grim and silent.
Patches was wondering what had so quickly changed his companion's mood, when he caught sight of two horsemen, riding along the top of the ridge that forms the western side of the wash, their course paralleling that of the Cross-Triangle men, who were following the bed of the wash.
When Patches directed Phil's attention to the riders, the cowboy said shortly, "I've been watching them for the last ten minutes." Then, as if regretting the manner of his reply, he added more kindly, "If they keep on the way they're going, we'll likely meet them about a mile down the wash where the ridge breaks." "Do you know them ?" asked Patches curiously.
"It's Nick Cambert and that poor, lost dog of a Yavapai Joe," Phil answered.
"The Tailholt Mountain outfit," murmured Patches, watching the riders on the ridge with quickened interest.

"Do you know, Phil, I believe I have seen those fellows before." "You have!" exclaimed Phil.

"Where?
When ?" "I don't know how to tell you where," Patches replied, "but it was the day I rode the drift fence.