drive behind them, and were going
north. Rowdy had denied himself the luxury of riding over to see Jessie,
and he was repenting the sacrifice in deep gloom and sincerity, when two
men rode into camp and dismounted, as if they had a right. The taller
one--with brawn and brain a-plenty, by the look of him--announced that
he was the sheriff, and would like to stop overnight.

Rowdy gave him welcome half-heartedly, and questioned him craftily.
A sheriff is not a detective, and does not mind giving harmless
information; so Rowdy learned that they had traced Conroy thus far, and
believed that he was ahead of them and making for Canada. He had dodged
them cleverly two or three times, but now they had reason to believe
that he was not more than half a day's ride before them. They wanted to
know if the outfit had seen any one that day, or sign of any one having
passed that way.

Rowdy shook his head.

"I bet it was Harry Conroy driving that little bunch uh horses up the
creek, just as we come over the ridge," spoke Pink eagerly.

Rowdy could have choked him. "He wouldn't be driving a lot of horses,"
he interposed quickly.

"Well, he might," argued Pink. "If I was making a quick get-away, and
my horse was about played out--like his was apt t' be--I'd sure round
up the first bunch I seen, and catch me a fresh one--if I was a
horse-thief. I'll bet yuh--"

The sheriff had put down his cup of coffee. "Is there any place where a
man could corral a bunch on the quiet?" he asked crisply. It was evident
that Pink's theory had impressed him.

"Yes, there is. There's an old corral up at the ford--Drowning Ford,
they call it--that I'd use, if it was me. It was an old line camp,
and there's a cabin. It's down on the flat by the creek, and it's as
God-forsaken a place as a man'd want t' hide in, or t' change mounts."
Pink hitched up his chapbelt and looked across at Rowdy. He was aching
for a sight of Harry Conroy in handcuffs, and he was certain that Rowdy
felt the same. "If it was me," he added speculatively, "and I thought I
was far enough in the lead, I'd stop there till morning."

"How far is it from here?" demanded the sheriff, standing up.

Pink told him he guessed it was five miles. Whereupon the sheriff
announced his intention of going up there at once, and Pink hinted
rather strongly that he would like to go with them. The sheriff did not
know Pink; he looked down at his slimness and at the yellow fringe of
curls showing