n my chest. I've got to find Lucy pronto. But where to go!"

With a single step he reached his stirrup and swung into his saddle.

"Pan, Lucy an' the wife will be in one of the stores. Don't worry
about them. Why, they did all our buyin'."

"I tell you I don't like it," snapped Pan. "It's not what I think, but
what I feel. All the same, wherever they are it doesn't change our
plans. I'll sure find them, and tell them we're packing to leave
pronto..... Now, Dad, buy three wagons and teams, grain, grub, and
whatever else we need for two weeks or more on the road. Soon as I
find Lucy and Mother I'll meet you and help you with the buying."

"I ought to talk it over with Ma before I buy grub," replied his
father, perplexedly scratching his head. "I wish they was home."

"Come on, Blink," called Pan, as he rode out.

Blinky joined him out in the road.

"Pard, I don't get your hunch, but I can see you're oneasy."

"I'm just loco, that's all," returned Pan, forcing himself.
"It's--such--such a disappointment not to see--her.... Made me
nervous. Makes me think how anything might happen. I never trusted
Jim Blake. And Lucy is only a kid in years."

"Ahuh," said Blinky, quietly. "Reckon I savvy. You wouldn't feel thet
way fer nothin'."

"Blink, I'm damn glad you're with me," rejoined Pan feelingly, turning
to face his comrade. "No use to bluff with you. I wish to heaven I
could say otherwise, but I'm afraid there's something wrong."

"Shore. Wal, we'll find out pronto," replied Blinky, with his cool
hard spirit, "an' if there is, we'll damn soon make it right."

They rode rapidly until they reached the outskirts of town, when Blinky
called Pan to a halt.

"Reckon you'd better not ride through Main Street," he said
significantly.

They tied their horses behind a clump of trees between two deserted
shacks. Pan removed his ragged chaps, more however to be freer of
movement than because they were disreputable.

"Now, Blink, we'll know pronto if the town is friendly to us," he said
seriously.

"Huh! I ain't carin' a whoop, but I'll gamble we could own the town.
This fake minin', ranchin', hoss-dealin' Hardman was a hunk of bad
cheese. Pard, are you goin' to deny you killed him? Fer shore they've
been told thet."

"No. Wiggate can do the telling. All I want is to find Lucy and send
her back home, then buy our outfit and rustle."

"Sounds pretty. But I begin to feel hunchy myself. Let's ha