uts too. Sometimes he blotted out the hoofprints of the
three in front, so I know he was not ahead of 'em."

"You think the Dinsmores did this, Jack?"

"I want more evidence before I say so publicly. But Tony didn't. Here's
another point in his favor. If Tony shot him on the bluff an' flung the
body over, why did he have to go down below an' look at it? No need
a-tall of that. No; Tony went down to make sure who it was that had been
killed. Soon as he knew that he guessed he would be accused of it, an'
he lit out for No Man's Land. I found him there three weeks later."

The cattleman apologized after a fashion for some hard things he had
said and thought about his former employee. "I don't spend any of my
time likin' yore style, Roberts. You're too high-heeled for me. But I'll
say this for you: Ellison picked a good man when he got you. You're a
straight-up rider, an' you'll do to take along. What's yore programme?"

He told it. The cattleman looked at him with increased respect. He gave
a short, barking laugh.

"If it was anybody else I'd say it was crazy, but you're such a doggoned
hellion of a go-getter mebbe you can put it over."

"Looks to me like a good bet," said Roberts mildly.

"Well, I an' my friends will be right there if we're needed. I'll see
you through. Can't afford to have my best witness strung up to a
wagon-tongue yet awhile."

They talked over the details; then the Ranger started for the jail, and
the cattleman breezed around to give a little tip to some reliable
friends. Wadley was quite of a mind with Roberts. There was going to be
no lynching at Tascosa if he could help it.

CHAPTER XIV

JACK SERVES NOTICE

Jack Roberts liked to get his information first hand. On his way to the
jail he deflected, passed up the wide, dusty main street, and stopped at
a log "hogan" made of _bois d'arc_ timber and cedar from the brakes.
Across the front of it was printed roughly a sign:

THE SILVER DOLLAR

The Ranger took a little hitch at his guns to make sure they would slide
easily from the holsters in case of need, then strolled into the saloon,
a picture of negligent indifference.

A tall man, lank as a shad, was master of ceremonies. Steve Gurley was
in high feather. He was treating the crowd and was availing himself of
his privilege as host to do the bulk of the talking. His theme was the
righteousness of mob law, with particular application to the case of
Tony