g Andover and Pete on their desert
journey to Sanborn.

Incidentally Pete gave his word that he would not try to escape. It
was significant, however, that the little sheriff expressed a
preference for the back seat, even before Andover, who had invited him
to make the journey, asked him if he cared to ride in front. The
sheriff's choice was more a matter of habit than preference, for, alone
upon the ample seat of the touring-car, he was shuttled ignominiously
from side to side and bounced and jolted until, during a stop for
water, he informed Andover that "he sure would have to pull leather to
stay with the car."

The surgeon, a bit inclined to show off, did not hesitate to "step on
her," when the going was at all good. And any one familiar with the
road from El Paso to Sanborn is aware of just how good even the best
going is. Any one unfamiliar with that road is to be congratulated.

Pete enjoyed the ride, as it brought him once more into the open
country. The car whirred on and on. It seemed to him as though he
were speeding from a nightmare of brick and stone and clamor into the
wide and sun-swept spaces of a land familiar and yet strange.

They reached Sanborn about noon, having made about one hundred and
fifty miles in something like four hours.

After a wash and a meal at the hotel, they strolled over to the
livery-stable to inspect the horse that Andover thought of buying. A
small crowd had collected at the stables, as the auction was advertised
to take place that afternoon. The sheriff himself started the bidding
on the thoroughbred, followed by the liveryman, who knew about what he
could get for the horse in El Paso. Andover raised his bid, which was
quickly raised in turn by the sheriff. Pete realized that Andover
really wanted the horse and told him quietly to drop out when the
bidding reached two hundred, shrewdly estimating that neither the
liveryman nor the sheriff would go beyond that figure, as neither of
them really wanted the horse save as a speculation. "Then, if you want
him, raise twenty-five, and you get a mighty good horse for a hundred
less than he's worth. I know him. He's no good workin' cattle--but
he's one fine trail horse for straight goin'. And he's as gentle as
your gran'-mother."

The bidding ran to one hundred and seventy-five, when there was a
pause. The sheriff had dropped out. The liveryman, conferring with
his partner, was about to bid when Andover jumped the p