four points of the compass, told him
that there was no other man within sight.

Taking off his boots and socks he waded out into the middle of Big
Little River, carrying a shovel and the box. In the soft, sandy soil he
made a hole deep enough to hold the box which he put into it. Swiftly he
filled it with stones, placed a big, flat rock over it, saw that there
was no sign of his work as the sand and mud drifted in to fill the
little hollow, and then went back for his boots. The shovel he put again
against the bunk house wall.

When, at last, he had mended his cinch and rode Comet out towards the
east and the mountains upon the flank of the Poison Hole, he had made up
his mind what he was going to do.

"It's a gamble," he told himself coolly. "But I guess I've got to gamble
now. And I'm going to play it heavy."

CHAPTER XXVII

JIMMIE SQUARES HIMSELF

A horseman was riding toward him upon the far bank of the Big Little
River where it straightened out beyond the cabin. He recognized the
horse and a moment later the rider now waving his hat to him, and knew
that it was Two-Hand Billy Comstock returning. He turned and rode slowly
to meet the officer.

"Back already, Comstock?" he called carelessly. "What luck?"

"Bully luck," grinned Comstock, replacing his hat and looking as fresh
and well groomed as though he were but this minute up from bed and a
long sleep. "First let me tell you the news." He slipped his hand into
his breast pocket and took out an envelope. "More mail for you,
Thornton! You're doing a big correspondence, it seems to me!"

In spite of him a quick flush ran up to Thornton's brow. For his first
thought was that Winifred Waverly....

"Wrong guess, Buck," chuckled Comstock, his good humour seemingly
flowing from an inexhaustible source. "It's from a man."

"Who?" demanded Thornton sharply, putting out his hand.

Comstock's amusement welled up into open laughter.

"It's a prime joke of the Fates," he cried cheerfully. "Here is William
Comstock, United States Deputy Marshal, carrying a message from no less
a person than Jimmie Clayton, jail bird, crook and murderer! A man
wanted in two states!"

"Clayton!" said Thornton in amazement. "You don't mean to tell me...."

"Oh, he'd never seen me, you know. Nor I him. But then I've seen his
picture more than once and I know all about him. He's keeping low but he
took a chance on me. I was just a whiskey drummer last night, you know,
and hap