ode in," replied Pan cheerfully.

"See you're packin' hardware," went on the other, with significant
glance at Pan's gun.

Pan at once took this man to be Matthews, the town marshal mentioned by
Charley Brown. He had not needed Brown's hint; he had encountered many
sheriffs of like stripe. Pan, usually the kindliest and most genial of
cowboys, returned the sheriff's curious scrutiny with a cool stare.

"Am I packing a gun?" rejoined Pan, with pretended surprise, as he
looked down at his hip. "Sure, so I am. Clean forgot it, Mister.
Habit of mine."

"What's a habit?" snapped the other.

Pan now shot a straight level gaze into the hard gray eyes of the
sheriff. He knew he was going to have dealings with this man, and the
sooner they began the better.

"Why, my packing a gun--when I'm in bad company," said Pan.

"Pretty strong talk, cowboy, west of the Rockies.... I'm Matthews, the
town marshal."

"I knew that, and I'm right glad to meet you," rejoined Pan pertly. He
made no move to meet the half-proffered hand, and his steady gaze
disconcerted the marshal.

Another man came briskly up, carrying papers in his hand.

"Are you the agent, Mr. Smith?" asked Pan.

"I am thet air, young fellar."

"Can I see you a moment, on business?"

"Come right in." He ushered Pan into his office and shut the door.

"My name's Smith," began Pan hurriedly. "I'm hunting for my dad...
Bill Smith. Do you know him--if he's in Marco?"

"Bill Smith's cowboy! Wal, put her thar," burst out the other,
heartily, shoving out a big hand. His surprise and pleasure were
marked. "Know Bill? Wal, I should smile. We're neighbors an' good
friends."

Pan was so overcome by relief and sudden joy that he could not speak
for a moment, but he wrung the agent's hand.

"Wal, now, sort of hit you in the gizzard, hey?" he queried, with humor
and sympathy. He released his hand and put it on Pan's shoulder.
"I've heard all about you, cowboy. Bill always talked a lot--until
lately. Reckon he's deep hurt thet you never wrote."

"I've been pretty low-down," replied Pan with agitation. "But I never
meant to be.... I just drifted along.... Always I was going back home
soon. But I didn't. And I haven't written home for two years."

"Wal, forget thet now, son," said the agent kindly. "Boys will be
boys, especially cowboys. You've been a wild one, if reports comin' to
Bill was true.... But you've come home to make up to him. Lord