er McAlpin's pool hall, he was assailed with questions.
Pretty accurate reports of the two exciting days in the North country
had already trickled into Sleepy Cat. To these, Sawdy listened with
stolid attention but he managed to add to them very little. He
possessed to a degree the faculty of talking freely, sententiously
even, without contributing anything strictly pertinent to a subject.
What he conveyed, when he meant to withhold information, was really no
more than an air of reserve in which wisdom seemed discreetly
restrained. On this present occasion he realized it would be known
that he had encountered the raiders the day before at Laramie's--but
while admitting this profusely, he minimized all else.

Not until he had bathed, slept, shaved and set himself down near
nightfall at Belle Shockley's did he tell any considerable part of his
story. But all that prudence would permit he told, or rather, Belle
demanded and received at his hands. Where the heart is involved the
strongest men are helpless.

"I ran into the bunch on my way down, right at Laramie's cabin," Sawdy
said to Belle. "Laramie and Doubleday were having the hottest kind of
a row when I rode up. I made sure we'd be shooting in the next couple
of minutes. But John Lefever was watching pretty close and holding Van
Horn. Barb cooled down when he saw three of us on deck. I told him on
the side, the Governor had telephoned Pearson and the Colonel was going
to send cavalry down after them and they'd better scatter. It was a
bluff, but for a few minutes I had him and Van Horn guessing. They
said they'd go home when they got Hawk. Lefever is staying up there
for a day or two."

"What did they do after that?" demanded Belle, referring to the men
whose names were on everybody's tongues.

"Beat the bushes from Laramie's to the Reservation," answered Sawdy.
"Didn't leave a square yard of country unturned from the Falling Wall
to the Crazy Woman."

"Will they ever find Hawk?"

"Did you ever find a needle in a haystack?"

"I never looked for one."

"Them fellows are looking for the stack. They can't locate the hay.
Slip me that Worcestershire sauce, Belle. Yours truly. No more
potatoes. This is a good piece of ham, Belle. I wish to God you'd
serve a glass of beer with a man's supper."

"You can get all the supper and all the beer you want at the hotel,"
flared Belle. "This is no blind pig----"

"It's the only place in Main Street, the