"What's that about the three o' yuh comin' along?" said Loudon.

"Why, Kate, she was with us. She changed her saddle to one of our fresh hosses. She wouldn't quit nohow till she heard yuh say yuh was all right. Then she started off home. Funny, she was ridin' a 88 pony when she struck the line-camp."

"That's odd, but it don't matter none. I'll--I'll see Kate later."

"Sh.o.r.e," said Hockling, wondering at the lack of warmth in Loudon's tone. But Western etiquette forbids the questioning of another's motives.

"Say," remarked Red, hastening to break the awkward silence, "say, won't Block feel happy when he finds we've done ventilated his deputies?"

"Yeah," replied Loudon, "an' the funny part of it is, they ain't got no right to arrest me. That warrant has been pulled in."

"Yuh sh.o.r.e forgot to mention that last night," Hockling said, disgustedly. "Here Red an' me have been pattin' ourselves on the back for runnin' a blazer on the law. An' now, come to find out, them deputies was in the wrong, an' so we only give 'em what was comin' to 'em, anyway."

"Well, you've got a nerve, you have!" exclaimed the indignant Loudon.

"Do yuh think I'm goin' round dodgin' warrants so you two jiggers can run blazers on the sheriff?"

He made a swift movement.

"Leggo my legs!" yelled Hockling. "I got on my new pants, an' I don't want the seat tore out! Hey, yuh idjit! Leggo!"

When order was restored and Hockling was tenderly feeling his precious trousers, Loudon suggested that Red, the lightest man, take Marvin's fresh pony and ride to the line-camp for food and two horses.

"Yuh'll have yore work cut out," said Red as he mounted, "to ride them ponies bareback. We ain't even got a extra bridle."

"Don't worry none," Loudon said. "We'll make bridles an' Injun surcingles out o' Marvin's rope, an' we'll toss for his saddle."

"How you feel, Tom?" inquired Laguerre, stretched at ease on a cot in the Cross-in-a-box ranch house.

"Whittled to the chin," replied Loudon. "Which that pony's ridgepole could give odds to a knife-blade on bein' sharp. We might 'a' knowed Marvin would win the toss. His own saddle, too."

"Eet ees de las' piece o' luck she weel have for varree long tam."

"I ain't so sh.o.r.e about that. There's no real evidence to show that Marvin's a rustler. 'Ceptin' Rudd, yuh can't connect any of the 88 outfit with the hoss stealin'. I know they done it. I always knowed Sam Blakely was at the bottom of it, an' I can't prove it yet. Here's you an' I rode from h.e.l.l to breakfast an' back, an' all we've got to show for it is Archer an' the Maxson boys--an' the hosses, o' course.

Unless I find out somethin' more soon an' sudden, I've got to take off Marvin's hobbles. My bluff about Bill Archer's blabbin' ain't workin'

with Marvin. He's worried, an' he shows it, but he's standin' pat. I spent a solid hour with him to-night, an' all he does is cuss an' beef about what'll happen when Blakely finds out his range-boss has been kidnapped. It makes me sick!"

Laguerre nodded sympathetically.

"Yuh can't tell me," continued Loudon, "that them Marysville sports was the only ones in the hoss-stealin' deal. If they was, then why was Pete O'Leary expectin' Sam Blakely the day I struck the Bend, an' why was Rufe Cutting planted in the cook's job at the Flyin' M? It all points--so far. An' the rustlin' o' the Bar S an' Cross-in-a-box cattle--there's another mystery. Oh, it's a great life, this here detective business!"

"Tell you w'at, Tom," Laguerre suggested, hopefully, "you un me, huh, we weel bushwhack dees Blak'lee feller. W'at you say?"

"Can't be did, Telescope. We've got to get him the right way, so the folks o' Sunset an' Fort Creek'll know just why he went. That goes for his outfit an' Block an' his deputies, too. They're all in it up to their belts. They've made Fort Creek County what it is--a place where a straight gent has to watch himself an' what's around him all the time. Shorty Simms killed the Sheriff o' Sunset, but Blakely an' the 88 made the killin' possible. Oh, what's the use? I'm goin' to sleep."

But Loudon did not go to sleep at once. He had too much on his mind.

From Blakely and the 88 his perplexed thoughts shifted to Kate Saltoun and the sinful ease with which she had made a fool of him; he had trusted her, and she had betrayed him. The daughter of a ranchman, she had flouted the law of the range. Given the thief money, too. It was almost incredible.

Idiot that he was, to believe for an instant that she loved him!

Knowing her of old, it served him right, he told himself. He thanked Heaven that he did not love her, had not loved her since that day in the Bar S kitchen.

Quite naturally then, since he was so absolutely sure of himself and his emotions, he wondered how Rudd had had the luck to save Kate's life. He wished that it had been himself, in order that he might have made some small return for services rendered.

She had done a great deal for him at the Bend. She had simplified a most complex situation by bringing to his a.s.sistance Hockling and Red Kane. He undoubtedly owed a lot to Kate. Nevertheless, he a.s.sured himself that her conduct in the matter of Rudd's escape had squared the account. Of course it had. And he was glad of it. For, under the circ.u.mstances, he would never have to see her again. The Spinning Sister heard, and smiled--and Loudon fell asleep.

"Hey, Tom! Wake up!"

It was Jack Richie's voice that shouted, and it was Jack Richie's hand that shook Loudon awake.

"Whatsa matter?" Loudon opened sleepy eyes.

"Yore hoss is outside. Yore hoss, Ranger, an'----"

Jack Richie was almost overset by the blanket-shedding cyclone that whirled out of bed and through the doorway. In front of the ranch house stood Ranger, surrounded by Richie's amazed and conjecturing cowboys. The horse raised his wise head, c.o.c.ked his ears, and nickered softly at Loudon's approach.

"It's him," grinned Loudon. "It's the little hoss. Well, fellah, you old tiger-eye!"

He rubbed the white spot on Ranger's nose. The horse nipped his fingers with soft lips.

"Found him tied to the post out back o' the wagon shed," volunteered the cook. "I thought I was seein' things."

"Funny he didn't whinner," said Loudon.

"There was a flour-sack over his head," explained the cook. "Here it is."

"That don't tell me nothin'," Loudon said. "Everybody uses Triple X.

An' that hackamore could be just anybody's, too. Whoever brought him sh.o.r.e walked in the water."

"It ain't likely possible now," observed Jack Richie, "that Rufe Cutting could 'a' got religion or somethin'."

"It's possible, but it ain't likely," said Loudon. "Well, fellah, c'mon an' get yuh a drink, an' then for the big feed. Yo're gone off a good forty pounds since yuh quit me."

Later, Loudon, in company with Laguerre, visited the post where Ranger had been tied. Laguerre closely scrutinized the ground in the vicinity.

"Hoss she been tied up six-seven hour," observed Laguerre.

"It's 'bout half-past five now. That makes it ten or eleven when he was brought in."

"'Bout dat. Feller lead heem een. Hard to read de sign on de gra.s.s, but eet look lak de feller not walk good een hees boot--dey too beeg, mabbeso. Come 'long. We weel see w'ere feller she leave hees hoss."

They followed the trail a hundred yards, and then Laguerre knelt down, his eyes searching the gra.s.s. He picked up a small stone and held it up. The stone was sharp-cornered. It was stained a dark red.

"Feller she treep un fall on hees han's un knees," explained Laguerre.

"Lef han' heet de leetle rock, un geet cut some. Han' bleed on eet."

Laguerre rose, tossed away the stone, and proceeded to follow the trail. He led the way to a tall pine some three hundred yards distant from the ranch house. Even Loudon's unpractised eyes told him that a horse had stood beneath the pine.

"Here feller she climb een de saddle un go 'way," said Laguerre. "No use follow de trail any more."