ust plain business."

"Right you have it, John," returned Van Horn briskly. "The rustlers
have got to go. We're looking for Abe Hawk. Gorman and Dutch Henry
are lifting cattle now in the Happy Hunting Grounds. We're going to
clean out the rest of 'em. We've tracked Abe here. Without any hard
words, we want him."

"Then, boys, you want to ride right on; keep on riding, for he's not
here. I don't know anything, but that much I do know," asserted the
big fellow positively.

"How do you know?" demanded Doubleday grimly.

"I just walked down here from the cabin; there's no one there. I rode
in here this morning from the Reservation, Barb. A buck looking for
horses over on the North Fork yesterday saw the fight at
Gorman's--everybody knows about it."

Van Horn showed his teeth: "You're a pretty good artist, John, with
your buck looking for horses."

Lefever deprecated the compliment: "You must remember, Harry, I worked
seven year for you. Seven year--and then didn't get all was coming to
me."

"If you had," returned Van Horn candidly, "your headstone would be
covered with moss by this time, John. Where's Laramie?"

Lefever stood with his left hand eagerly extended and appeared as if
sensitive at Van Horn's incredulity:

"All the same, Harry," he exclaimed, "I can take you to that buck
inside two hours' ride and get his story. I've got five twenty-dollar
gold pieces in my pocket that says so. I'll put 'em up in Barb
Doubleday's hands right now against your five."

"A man couldn't pry you loose from five twenty-dollar gold pieces if
you had five thousand in your pocket, John. What are you stalling
around for?" demanded Van Horn suspiciously. "Where's Laramie?"

Lefever was frankness itself; almost over-frank in his genuine
simplicity. Had it not been for his big, blunt eyes and round, smooth
face he might have been suspected of duplicity--but not by the two men
now talking to him; they knew beyond a doubt that John was "stringing"
them. Unfortunately they could not prevent it. He answered Van Horn's
sharp question as innocently as a child.

"That's more than I can say this minute, Harry, where Jim Laramie is;
but he's not far, I can tell you that, for the coffee pot was on the
stove when I got to the shack a while ago."

"Then what are you holding us up here for?" barked Doubleday with rough
words.

"I'm a peace officer, Barb, a deputy marshal." The bursting expression
of disgust on his que