know beforehand what a good-natured, meechin' sort of rooster Jack is,
you might think he was fixing to play some kind of a hold-up game on
somebody."

"That's what Canby thinks, and he asked me to hold the wire open."

The big boss smiled again. "Then don't you reckon you'd better go and
hold it?" he suggested mildly; and the young man in his shirt-sleeves
vanished to do it.

When he was left alone, the senator went to the house phone connecting
the library with the remoter suites. A touch of the button brought an
answering word, and he spoke softly into the transmitter.

"The time is getting right ripe, and I thought you might want a minute
or so to put on your things," he said, in answer to the low-toned
"Well?" that came over the house wire. Then he added: "I don't know but
what we may have to make a little bluff at somebody on the way in. When
you order the car around, suppose you tell Rickert to put 'Tennessee'
and Billy Shack in the tonneau, with a couple of shot-guns. We can drop
'em if they look too warlike and conspicuous."

He was hanging the ear-piece on its hook when the shirt-sleeved young
man burst in again excitedly.

"It _is_ a hold-up!" he declared breathlessly. "Miss Anners and Mr. Evan
have slammed their car into the tree, and Canby says the two horseback
men are watching them from the dry gulch just below him!"

"All right," was the even-toned reply. "You go and tell Canby to keep
his shirt on, Fred; and don't forget to send those papers in by
Gallagher."

While the senator was speaking, the door opened and the old negro came
hobbling in with a driving-coat and the broad-brimmed planter's hat
which made the Honorable David a marked man throughout the length and
breadth of the Sage-Brush State.

"De cyar's at de do', Marsteh David, and Mistis say she plumb ready when
you is, yes-sah," stammered the serving-man, holding the coat for his
master; and a moment later the senator was climbing to his place behind
the big wheel of the touring-car, with Mrs. Honoria for his seat-mate on
the mechanician's side, and the chauffeur, the horse wrangler, and Billy
Shack comfortably filling the tonneau.

While the touring-car, with its curiously assorted complement of
passengers, was leaving Wartrace Hall, Evan Blount, having assured
himself that Patricia was not hurt, was trying to estimate the extent
of the damage done to the little red roadster by the collision with the
tree. The inspection was brief.