Hanscom mockingly chimed in. "That's mighty fine and self-sacrificing, but it won't do. The rider who fired that shot was a man. But I'll leave it to Henry. Bring around the horses, and remember, if you slip out with that bay horse I'll _know_ you rode the sorrel yesterday."

The situation had become too complicated for the girl, who fell silent, while Busby cursed the ranger in fierce, set terms. "What right have you got to arrest us, anyhow?"

"All the right I need. That shooting began inside the forest boundary, and it's my duty to see that you are placed in the hands of the law."

Here his voice took on a note of grim determination. "And I want you to understand there will be no funny business on the way down."

"How can I ride, all tied up like this?" demanded the ruffian.

"Oh, I'm going to untie you, and you are going to come along quietly--either as live stock or freight--you can take your choice."

Busby, subdued by several hours on the floor, was disposed to do as he was told, and Hanscom unbound his legs and permitted him to rise.

As young Kitsong brought the horses around in front of the cabin, Hanscom was not disappointed in finding the girl's saddle on the sorrel.

He made no comment.

"Now, Busby, we'll mount you first," he said, and slipped the bridle from the horse. "You see, to make sure of you I am going to lead your pony." He then untied the youth's hands. "Climb on!" he commanded.

Busby silently mounted to his saddle, the girl took the sorrel, and at command Kitsong started down the trail.

"You go next," said Hanscom to the girl, "now you, Busby," he added, and with the rope across the horse's rump--the trick of a trained trailer--he started down the trail.

Sinister as this small procession really was, it would have appeared quite innocent to a casual observer as it went winding down the hill. No one at a little distance would have been able to tell that in the silent determination of the horseman in the rear lay the only law, the only bond which kept these four riders in line. Neither Busby nor Kitsong nor the girl doubted for an instant that if any of them made a deflection, a rush for freedom, they would be shot. They knew that as a Federal officer he had certain authority. Just how much authority they could not determine, but they were aware that the shooting had begun in the forest, which was his domain.

As they sighted Watson's cabin Hanscom was curious to know whether nearing the scene of the crime would have any perceptible effect on Busby. "Will he betray nervousness?" he asked himself.

Quite the contrary. As he came opposite the house, Busby turned in his saddle and asked, "When was Watson killed?"

"n.o.body knows exactly. Some time Monday night," answered the ranger.

A few miles down the road they met a rancher coming up the valley with a timber-wagon, and to him the ranger explained briefly the nature of his expedition, and said:

"Now, Tom, I reckon you'll have to turn around and help me take these youngsters to the sheriff. I would rather have them in your wagon than on horseback."

The rancher consented with almost instant readiness.

The prisoners were transferred to the wagon, and in this way the remainder of the trip was covered.

V

The county jail was a square, brick structure standing in the midst of a grove of small cottonwood-trees (planted in painful rows), and the sheriff's office and his wife's parlor, situated on opposite sides of the hall, occupied the front part of the first story, while the rear and the bas.e.m.e.nt served as kitchen and dungeon keep. Generally the lockup was empty and the building quite as decorous as any other on the street, although at certain times it resounded with life. On this day it was quiet, and Throop and his wife, who served as matron, were sitting under a tree as the rancher's wagon halted before the gate.

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon and Hanscom's prisoners were dusty, tired, and sullen as they filed up the walk toward the sheriff, who awaited their approach with an inquiring slant to his huge head. Mrs. Throop retreated to the house.

When at close range Hanscom with a weary smile said, "I've brought you some new boarders, Mr. Sheriff."

"So I see," said the officer, as he motioned them to enter the door.

"What's it all about?"

"It's a long story," replied the ranger, "and of course I can't go into it here, but I want you to take charge of these people while I see Carmody and find out what he wants done with them. I think he'll find them valuable witnesses. Incidentally I may say they've been shooting a horse and breaking and entering a house."

The sheriff was deeply impressed with this charge. "Well, well!" he said, studying with especial care the downcast face of the girl. "I thought it might be only killing game out of season, stealing timber, or some such thing." He called a deputy. "Here, Tom, take these men into the guard-room, and, Mrs. Throop, you look after this girl while I go over the case with Mr. Hanscom."

"Don't let 'em talk with anybody," warned the ranger.

The sheriff pa.s.sed the word to the deputy, "That's right, Tom."

In deep relief the ranger followed the sheriff into his private office and dropped into a seat. "Jeerusalem! I'm tired!" he exclaimed. "That was a nervous job!"

"Cut loose," said the sheriff.

Hanscom then related as briefly as he could the story of the capture. At the end he confessed that he had hardly expected to reach town with all of them. "I had no authority to arrest them. I just bluffed them, as well as the rancher who drove the wagon, into thinking I had. I wanted them for Carmody to question, and I hung to the girl because I believe she can absolutely clear Kauffman and his daughter of any connection--"

Throop, who had listened intently, now broke out: "Well, I hope so. That old man and his girl sure are acquiring all kinds of misery. Kitsong got Carmody to issue a warrant for them yesterday, and I wired the authorities at Lone Rock and had them both taken from the train."

The ranger's face stiffened as he stared at the officer. "You did!"

"I did, and they're on their way back on No. 6."

"How could Carmody do that?" Hanscom demanded, hotly. "He told them to go--I heard him."

"He says not. He says he just excused the girl for the time being. He declares now that he expected them both to stay within call, and when he heard they were running away--"

"How did he know they were running away?"

"Search me! Some one on the train must have wired back."

"More likely the Blackbird Ranch 'phoned in. They are all related to Watson. I was afraid of them." He rose. "Well, that proves that Abe and his gang were at the bottom of that raid."

"Maybe so, but I don't see how Carmody can go into that--his job is to find the man or woman who killed Watson."

"Well, there's where I come in. I've got the girl who made those tracks on the floor."

The sheriff was thoughtful. "I guess you'd better call up Carmody--he's the whole works till his verdict is rendered, and he ought to be notified at once."

A moment's talk with the doctor's office disclosed the fact that he was out in the country on a medical trip, and would not return till late.

"Reckon we'll have to wait," said the sheriff.

The ranger's face fell. After a pause he asked, "When does that train get in?"

"About six; it's an hour late."

"And they'll be jailed?"

"Sure thing! No other way. Carmody told me to take charge of them and see that they were both on hand to-morrow."

Hanscom's fine eyes flamed with indignation. "It's an outrage. That girl is as innocent of Watson's killing as you are. I won't have her humiliated in this way."

"You seem terribly interested in this young lady," remarked Throop, with a grin.