ride the range for,
so's not to lose 'em. We've traced a B-in-a-Box steer clear from
Tucson to Denver, done it more'n onct or twice too. I notice you got a
big bunch of man-punchers in uniform here. Ain't it their business to
rustle up strays?"

"The police," said the postmaster, amused. "That is part of their
business. We'll pass the buck to them anyhow."

After some delay and repeated explanations of who he was, the
postmaster got at the other end of the wire his friend the
commissioner. Their conversation was brief. When the postmaster hung
up he rang for a stenographer and dictated a letter of introduction.
This he handed to Johnnie, with explicit instructions.

"Go to Police Headquarters, Center Street, and take this note to
Captain Luke Byrne. He'll see that the matter is investigated for you."

Johnnie was profuse, but somewhat incoherent in his thanks. "Much
obliged to meet you, Mr. Postmaster. An'--an' if you ever hit the
trail for God's Country I'll sure--I'll sure--Us boys at the B-in-a-Box
we'd be right glad to--to meet up with you. Tha's right, as the old
sayin' is. We sure would. Any ol' time."

The cowpuncher's hat was traveling in a circle propelled by red,
freckled hands. The official cut short Johnnie's embarrassment.

"Do you know the way to Police Headquarters?"

"I reckon I can find it. Is it fur?" The man from Arizona looked down
at the high-heeled boots in which his tortured feet had clumped over
the pavements of the metropolis all morning.

"I'll send you in a taxi." The postmaster was thinking that this babe
in the woods of civilization never would be able to find his way alone.

As the driver swept the car in and out among the traffic of the narrow
streets Johnnie clung to the top of the door fearfully. Every moment
he expected a smash. His heart was in his throat. The tumult, the
rush of business, the intersecting cross-town traffic, the hub-bub of
the great city, dazed his slow brain. The hurricane deck of a bronco
had no terrors for him, but this wild charge through the humming
trenches shook his nerve.

"I come mighty nigh askin' you would you just as lief drive slower," he
said with a grin to the chauffeur as he descended to the safety of the
sidewalk. "I ain't awful hardy, an' I sure was plumb scared."

A sergeant took Johnnie in tow and delivered him at length to the
office waiting-room of Captain Anderson, head of the Bureau of Missing
Persons. The Ru