e of his debonair manner Dave still had a bad headache and was so
sore around the body that he could scarcely move without groaning. He
kept his teeth clamped on the pain because he had been brought up in
the outdoor code of the West which demands of a man that he grin and
stand the gaff.

While the doctor was attending to his injuries, Dave caught sight once
or twice of Joyce at the door, clad now in a summer frock of white with a
blue sash. She was busy supplying, in a brisk, competent way, the demands
of the doctor for hot and cold water and clean linen.

Meanwhile Crawford told his story. "I was right close to the club when
Doble met me. He pulled a story of how his brother Dug had had trouble
with Steelman and got shot up. I swallowed it hook, bait, and sinker.
Soon as I got into the house they swarmed over me like bees. I didn't
even get my six-gun out. Brad wanted me to sign a relinquishment. I told
him where he could head in at."

"What would have happened if the boys hadn't dropped along?" asked Dr.
Green as he repacked his medicine case.

The cattleman looked at him, and his eyes were hard and bleak. "Why, Doc,
yore guess is as good as mine." he said.

"Mine is, you'd have been among the missing, Em. Well, I'm leaving a
sleeping-powder for the patient in case he needs it in an hour or two.
In the morning I'll drop round again," the doctor said.

He did, and found Dave much improved. The clean outdoors of the
rough-riding West builds blood that is red. A city man might have kept
his bed a week, but Dave was up and ready to say good-bye within
forty-eight hours. He was still a bit under par, a trifle washed-out,
but he wanted to take the road in pursuit of Miller and Doble, who had
again decamped in a hurry with the two horses they had stolen.

"They had the broncs hid up Frio Canon way, I reckon," explained Hart.
"But they didn't take no chances. When they left that 'dobe house they
lit a-runnin' and clumb for the high hills on the jump. And they didn't
leave no address neither. We'll be followin' a cold trail. We're not
liable to find them after they hole up in some mountain pocket."

"Might. Never can tell. Le's take a whirl at it anyhow," urged Dave.

"Hate to give up yore paint hoss, don't you?" said Bob with his friendly
grin. "Ain't blamin' you none whatever, I'd sleep on those fellows' trail
if Chiquito was mine. What say we outfit in the mornin' and pull our
freights? Maybeso we'll meet up with