Kate left the door at the sound of somebody approaching. Barrett wondered what bucko could be arriving so late as he moved a hat or two to make room for the expected weapons. In a moment his question was answered; old Manuel, wrangler and man of all tasks from the ranch, was blinking in the light of the door.
The old man leaned, one bony hand braced against the doorpost, the thong of his dangling quirt about his wrist. His thin dark face wore a troubled look as he drew his eyes small to focus them to the light. When he discovered Barrett he lifted a finger in expressive signal, and disappeared in the dark.
Barrett followed immediately, stepping aside quickly out of the beam of light that fell a little way outside the door from the hanging lamp that swung with the dancers' tread.
"Manuel!" he called softly.
"Here," the old man answered from the corner of the house.
"Did you want to see me?" Barrett asked as he went toward the shadowy figure.
"Come this way a little," the old man requested. He went around the corner of the house; Barrett followed.
At that moment Cattle Kate, scarcely breathing as she stood in the door listening, stepped quietly out after Barrett, and followed silently, guiding herself in the sudden blindness of the dark with one hand against the wall.
"What's the matter, Manuel?" Barrett inquired, a cold sense of looming trouble over him. "Did Miss
