"Yes, sir."

"Because, Evers," Said Torrance, relaxing from his official manner a bit, "it is going to be rather difficult to get Mr. Shoop appointed here. I want him. I can depend on him. We have had too many theorists in this field. And remember this; stay with Shoop through thick and thin and some day you may land a job as private secretary to a State Senator."

"All right, sir. I didn't know that you were going into politics, Mr.

Torrance."

"You're off the trail a little, Evers. I'll never run for Senator. I'm with the Service as long as it will have me. But if some clever politician happens to get hold of Shoop, there isn't a man in this mesa country that could win against him. He's just the type that the mesa people like. He is all human.--Dear Senator Collins--"

The stenographer bent over his book.

Later, as Torrance closed his desk, he thought of an incident in Shoop's life with which he had long been familiar. The Airedale, Bondsman, had once been shot wantonly by a stray Apache. Shoop had found the dog as it crawled along the corral fence, trying to get to the cabin. Bud had ridden fifty miles through a winter snowstorm with Bondsman across the saddle. An old Mormon veterinary in St. Johns had saved the dog's life.

Shoop had come close to freezing to death during that tedious ride.

Bud Shoop's a.s.sets in the game of life amounted to a few acres of mesa land, a worn outfit of saddlery, and a small bank account. But his greatest a.s.set, of which he was blissfully unconscious, was a big, homely love for things human and for animals; a love that set him apart from his fellows who looked upon men and horses and dogs as merely useful or otherwise.

Chapter XIII

_The Horse Trade_

The following day a young cowboy, mounted upon a singularly noticeable buckskin horse, rode down the main street of Jason and dismounted at the Forestry Office. Torrance was reading a letter when his clerk proffered the young man a chair and notified the supervisor that a Mr. Adams wished to see him.

A few minutes later, Lorry was shown in. The door closed.

Torrance surveyed the strong, young figure with inward approval. "I have your letter. Sit down. I see your letter is postmarked St. Johns."

"Yes, sir."

"Know anything about the Service?"

"No, sir."

"Why do you want to get into it?"

"I thought mebby I'd like the work."

"Have you any recommendations?"

"Nothin'--except what you're lookin' at."

Torrance smiled. "Could you get a letter from your last employer?"

"Not the kind of letter that would do any good. I had an argument with the foreman, and he fired me."

Torrance had heard something about the matter, and did not question further at the time.

"Do you drink?" queried Torrance.

"I never monkeyed with it much. I reckon I could if I wanted to."

Torrance drummed on the desk with his long, strong fingers. He reached in a drawer and drew out a letter.

"How about that?"

Lorry glanced at the heading. Evidently the sheriff knew of his general whereabouts. The letter stated that the sheriff would appreciate information leading to the apprehension of Lawrence Adams, wanted for aiding a prisoner to escape and for having in his possession a horse that did not belong to him.

"What he says is right," Lorry a.s.serted cheerfully. "I busted into the jail and turned that hobo loose, and I borrowed the horse I'm riding. I aim to send him back. My own horse is in the corral back at Stacey."

"What was your idea in letting the man go after arresting him?"

Lorry's clear color deepened. "I wasn't figurin' on explainin' that."

"You don't have to explain. But you will admit that the charges in this letter are rather serious. We don't want men in the Service who are open to criticism. You're pretty young to have such a record. It's up to you to explain--or not, just as you like. But anything you tell me will be treated as absolutely confidential, Adams."

"All right. Well, everything I done that day went wrong. I caught the hobo tryin' to rob a couple of wimmin over by the Notch. I was takin'

him to Stacey when Bob Brewster b.u.t.ted in. The hobo was sick, and I didn't aim to stand and see him kicked and beat up with a quirt, even if he did steal one of the Starr horses. I told High Chin to quit, but his hearin' wasn't good, so I had to show him. Then I got to thinkin' I wasn't so much--takin' a pore, busted tramp to jail. And it made me sick when everybody round town was callin' me some little hero. Then one of the Starr boys told me High Chin was cinchin' up to ride in and get the hobo, anyhow, so I busted the lock and told him to fan it."

"Why didn't you appeal to the sheriff?"

"Huh! Buck Hardy is all right. But I can tell you one thing; he's not the man to stand up to High Chin when High is drinkin'. Why, I see High shove a gun in Hardy's face once and tell him to go home and go to bed.

And Hardy went. Anyhow, that hobo was my prisoner, and I didn't aim to let High Chin get his hands on him."

"I see. Well, you have a strange way of doing things, but I appreciate why you acted as you did. Of course, you know it is a grave offense to aid a prisoner to escape."

"Buck Hardy seems to think so."

"So do I. And how about that horse?"

"Well, next day I was fixin' up the machine and foolin' around--that machine belonged to them tourists that the fella stuck up--when along about sundown Buck Hardy comes swellin' up to me and tells me I'm under arrest. He couldn't prove a darned thing if I hadn't said I done the job. But, anyhow, he didn't see it my way, so I borrowed Waring's horse and come down this way. Everybody saw me take the horse. You can't call that stealin'."

"Did Hardy ride after you?"

"Yes, sir. But he was so far behind I couldn't hear what he wanted. That big buckskin is a wonder. I wish I owned him."

Torrance mentally patched the fragments of evidence together. He decided that a young man who could capture a holdup man, best the notorious High Chin in a fight, repair a broken automobile, turn a prisoner loose, and make his own escape all within the short compa.s.s of forty-eight hours was a rather capable person in a way. And Torrance knew by Lorry's appearance and manner that he was still on the verdant side of twenty.

If such a youth chose to turn his abilities in the right direction he might accomplish much. Lorry's extreme frankness satisfied Torrance that the boy had told the truth. He would give him a chance.

"Do you know Bud Shoop?" queried the supervisor.

"No, sir. I know what he looks like. He's been to our hotel."

"Well, you might look him up. He may be out of town. Possibly he is up at his homestead on the Blue Mesa. Tell Mr. Shoop that I sent you to him. He will understand. But you will have to square yourself with the authorities before I can put you to work."

"Yes, sir. But I don't aim to ride back to Stacey just because I know where it is. If they want me, they can find me."

"That is your affair. When your slate is clear--"