Johnny raised his eyebrows: "Mebby no good man ever tried to get one out, an' workin'."
"You lose," retorted Ed emphatically. "Some of 'em was shore to be good. It's a cold deck—with a sharpshooter. There I go again!" he snorted. "I'm certainly shootin' off my mouth today. I must be loco!"
"Then don't let that worry you. I ain't shootin' mine off," Johnny reassured him. "I'm tryin' to figger"
A voice from the street interrupted him. "Hey, stranger! Yore outfit's in trouble down in Red Frank's!"
Johnny swung from the bar. "Where's his place?" he asked.
"One street back," nodded the bartender, indicating the rear of the room. "Turn to yore right—third door. It's a Greaser dive—look sharp!"
Johnny grunted and turned to obey the call. Walking out of the door, he went to the corner, turned it, and soon turned the second corner. As he rounded it he saw stars, reached for his guns by instinct, and dropped senseless. Two shadowy figures pounced upon him, rolled him over, and deftly searched him.
Back in the hotel Idaho stuck his head into the barroom. "Seen Nelson?" he asked.
"Just went to Red Frank's this minute—his gang's in trouble there!" quickly replied Ed.
"I'll go 'round an' be handy, anyhow," said Idaho, loosening his gun as he went through, the door. Rounding the first corner, he saw a figure flit into the darkness across the street and disappear, and as he turned the second corner he tripped and fell over a prostrate man. One glance and his match went out. Jumping around the cor-
