slapsided galoot's goin' to pitch such a crazy notion as his
resurrection down my throat. Retief? Why, I'd as lief hear that Satan
himself was abroad duffing cattle. Bah! Where's the 'hand' that's gulled
you?"

Lablache eyed the old man curiously. He was not sure that there might
not be some truth in the rancher's forcible skepticism. For the moment
the old man's words carried some weight, then, as he remembered the
unvarnished tale the cowboy had told, he returned to his conviction. He
shook his massive head.

"No one has gulled me, John. You shall hear the story for yourself as
soon as the police arrive. You will the better be able to judge of the
fellow's sincerity."

At this moment the sound of horses' hoofs came in through the open
window. Lablache glanced out on to the veranda.

"Ah, here he is, and I'm glad to see they've sent Sergeant Horrocks. The
very man for the work. Good," and he rubbed his fat hands together.
"Horrocks is a great prairie man."

"Poker" John rose and went out to meet the officer. Later he conducted
him into the office. Sergeant Horrocks was a man of medium height,
slightly built, but with an air of cat-like agility about him. He was
very bronzed, with a sharp, rather than a clever face. His eyes were
black and restless, and a thin mouth, hidden beneath a trim black
mustache, and a perfectly-shaped aquiline nose, completed the sum of any
features which might be called distinctive. He was a man who was
thoroughly adapted to his work--work which needed a cool head and quick
eye rather than great mental attainments. He was dressed in a brown
canvas tunic with brass buttons, and his riding breeches were concealed
in, a pair of well-worn leather "chaps." A Stetson hat worn at the exact
angle on his head, with his official "side arms" secured round his
waist, completed a very picturesque appearance.

"Morning, Horrocks," said the money-lender. "This is a pretty business
you've come down on. Left your men down in the settlement, eh?"

"Yes. I thought I'd come and hear the rights of the matter straight
away. According to your message you are the chief victim of this
'duffing' business?"

"Exactly," replied Lablache, with a return to his tone of anger, "one
thousand head of beeves! Thirty-five thousand dollars' worth!" Then he
went on more calmly: "But wait a moment, we'll send down for the 'hand'
that brought in the news."

A servant was despatched, and a few minutes later Jim Bowley ente