Pete nodded and lifted his glass. From the patio came the sound of Boca's voice and the soft strumming of the guitar. Pete heard but hardly realized the significance of the first line or two of the song—and then:
"A rider stood at the lamplit bar,
tugging the knot of his neckscarf loose, While some one sang to the silver strings,
in the moonlight patio."
It was the song of "The Outlaw." Pete turned slowly and faced the patio. Manuelo swept the strings in a melodious interlude. Boca, her vivid lips parted, smiled at Pete even as she began to sing again. Pete could almost feel the presence of men behind him. He knew that he was trapped, but he kept his gaze fixed on Boca's face. The Spider spoke to some one—a word of surprised greeting. In spite of his hold on himself Pete felt the sweat start on his lip and forehead. He was curious as to what these men would look like; as to whether he would know them. Perhaps they were not after him, but after some of the men in the patio—
"Annersley!"
Pete swung round, his hands up. He recognized two of the men—deputies of Sheriff Sutton of Concho. The third man was unknown to him.
"You're under arrest for the killing of Steve Gary."
"How's that?" queried The Spider.
"Steve Gary. This kid shot him—over to the Blue. We don't want any trouble about this," continued the deputy. "We've got a couple of men out back—"
"There won't be any trouble," said The Spider.
"No—there won't be any trouble," asserted Pete. "Gimme a drink, Spider."