"Well, let's get at it now," suggested Pan. "I'll start you boys on it, then ride down to Mother's."

In the succeeding hour, leading to noon, what with sundry trips down to the store, the trio learned some news that afforded much satisfaction.

Jim Blake had a.s.saulted a guard and broken jail. No doubt he must have had outside a.s.sistance. According to rumor Matthews accused Hurd, the guard, of being party to the escape, and had discharged him. Sentiment in town was not equally divided. Most everybody, according to the informers, was glad Blake had escaped. It developed that the jail was not a civic inst.i.tution. Already there had been talk of the permanent citizens getting together.

All this was exceedingly welcome to Pan. He could hardly wait till noon to saddle the sorrel, to ride over to his mother's.

"Aw, cowboy, hug thet gurl fer me!" sang Blinky, with ecstatic upward gaze. "Sh.o.r.e she's put the devil in you. An' this heah outfit is steppin' high!"

On the way out to the farm, halfway beyond the outskirts of town, Pan met his father rushing up the road. At sight of Pan he almost collapsed.

"Just--heard--the news," he panted, as Pan reined in the sorrel.

"What news, Dad?" queried Pan, gazing down with both thrill and anxiety at that haggard face, slowly warming out of its havoc.

"Bill Dolan an' his--boys--stopped at the ranch to--tell me," Smith, wiping his clammy face. "They just left town.... Bill saw you take that walk down main street."

"Well, what's that to be all set up about?"

"Reckon I was scared wild... Bill says to me, 'Bill, you oughtn't show yellow like thet. You sh.o.r.e don't savvy thet boy of yours.' ... I thought I did, son, but when it come to a showdown I was chicken-hearted. Your comin' home was a G.o.dsend to Mother an' Lucy.

An' more to me! Then to think you might get shot right off.... Wal, it was too much for my stomach."

"Dad, I bluffed them--that's all. I braced them quick and hard, before they could figure. It worked, and I believe I got most of the town with me."

"Pan, is it true that you accused Jard Hardman of robbin' me--an' you knocked him flat?"

"Sure it's true."

"Lord, but I'd like to have seen that," declared Smith vehemently.

"An' son, you got Jim Blake out of jail. Bill didn't hint you had anythin' to do with that. But I knew. It was sure great. If only Jim does his part!"

"You doubt that, Dad?"

"Sh.o.r.e do. But I'll tell you, Pan. If we could be with Jim all the time we could pull him up."

"Let's hope he's far on the way to Siccane by now.... Does Lucy know?

I hope you didn't tell her about my meeting with Hardman and Matthews?"

"I didn't. But Bill sh.o.r.e did," replied his father. "Reckon I would have squealed, though. Mother an' Lucy have a lot more nerve than me.

Fact is, though, Bill didn't give 'em time to go to pieces. He just busted out with news of Blake's escape. Say, boy, you should have seen Lucy."

"I will see her p.r.o.nto," replied Pan eagerly. "Come on. What're you holding me up for, anyhow?"

Pan walked the horse while his father kept pace alongside.

"Some more news I most forgot," Smith went on. "Bill told about a shootin' sc.r.a.pe out in Cedar Gulch. Them claim jumpers drove a miner named Brown off his claim. They had to fight for it. Brown said he wounded one of 'em. They chased him clean to Satlee's ranch. Sh.o.r.e wanted to kill him or scare him off for good."

"I know Brown," replied Pan. "And from what he told me I've a hunch I know the claim jumpers."

"Wal, that'd be hard to prove. In the early days of a minin' boom there's a lot of trouble. A miner is a crazy fellar often. He'll dig a hole, then move on to dig another. Then if some other prospector comes along to find gold on his last diggin's he yells claim jumpin'.

As a matter of fact most of them haven't a real claim till they find gold. An' all that makes the trouble."

"I'll hunt Brown up and persuade him to make the wild-horse drive with us. He's--"

"By George, I forgot some more," interrupted Smith, slapping his leg.

"Bill said Wiggate broke with Jard Hardman. Wiggate started this wild-hoss buyin' an' shippin' east. Hardman had to get his finger in the pie. Now Wiggate is a big man an' he has plenty of money. I always heard him well spoken of. Now I'll gamble your callin' Jard Hardman the way you did had a lot to do with Wiggate's break with him."

"Shouldn't wonder," rejoined Pan. "And it's darned good luck for us.

The boys ran across a valley full of wild horses over here about twenty miles. Dad, I believe I can trap several thousand wild horses."

"No!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed his father, incredulously.

"If the boys aren't loco, I sure can," declared Pan positively.

"I can vouch for numbers myself," replied Smith. "An' I've not a doubt in the world but that there valley's not yet hunted. But to ketch the darned scooters, that's the h.e.l.l of it! Pan, even a thousand head would give me a new start somewhere."

"It's as good as done. Before the snow flies we will be on the way south to Siccane."

"Lord! I'm a younger man than I was a few days ago. Before the snow flies? That's hardly another month. Pan, how'll we travel?"

"Wagons and horseback. We can buy wagon outfits for next to nothing.

There's a corral full of them at Black's. Second hand, but good enough."

"Mother an' Lucy will be glad. They hate this country. I don't mind wind if it's not too cold."

"There! Isn't that Lucy at the gate now?" suddenly queried Pan, with piercing gaze ahead.

"Reckon it is," replied his father. "Ride ahead, son. I'll take my time."

Pan urged the sorrel into a lope, then a gallop, and from that to a run. In just a few rods Pan took the measure of this splendid horse.

Swift, strong, sure footed and easy gaited, and betraying no sign of a mean spirit, the sorrel won Pan. What a liar Blinky was! He had lied to be generous.

Lucy waved to Pan as he came clattering down the road. Then she disappeared in the green foliage. Arriving at the gate he dismounted and went in. He expected to see her. But she had disappeared.

Leading his horse he hurried in toward the house, looking everywhere.

The girl, however, was not to be seen.

Bobby was occupied with little wooden playthings on the porch. Pan's gay shout to him brought forth his mother, but no Lucy.

He dropped his bridle, and mounted the porch to embrace his mother, who met him with suppressed emotions. Her hands were more expressive than her words.

"Oh, I'm all here, Mother," he laughed. "Where's Lucy? She was at the gate. Waved to me."

"Lucy ran through the house like a whirlwind," replied his mother, with a smile. "The truth is, my son, she has been quite beside herself since she heard of her father's release from jail. She _knew_ you got him out. She stared at me with her eyes black and wide. 'Mother, he laughed at me--at my fears. He said it'd be easy to free Dad.' ... So she knows, Pan, and I rather think she didn't want us to see her when she meets you. You'll find her in the orchard or down by the brook."

"All right, Mother, I'll find her," replied Pan happily. "We'll be in to dinner p.r.o.nto. There's a lot to talk about. Dad will tell you."

Pan did not seek Lucy in the orchard. Leaping upon the sorrel he loped down the sandy hard-packed path toward the brook and the shady tree with its bench. Pan knew she would be there. Dodging the overhanging branches he kept peering through the aisles of green for a glimpse of white or a golden head. Suddenly he was rewarded. Lucy stood in the middle of the sunny glade.

Pan rode to her side and leaped from the saddle. Her face was pale, and wet with tears. But her eyes were now dry, wide and purple, radiant with unutterable gladness. She rushed into his arms.