."

Molly regarded Sandy soberly, her fingers twining through the dog's
mane.

"You'd be good to him--same as you air to me? Oh, I'm jest plumb mean to
ask you that. I know you w'ud. He's goin' to be jest as lonesome as me
for a bit, ain't you, Grit? He allus slep' with me, cuddlin' up,
an'----" She gulped, straightened.

"Good night," she said. "Come, Grit."

The three men sat silent for a moment or two after she left.

"She's sure a stem-winder," said Mormon presently. "How you goin' to fix
to git her away, Sandy? Plimsoll'll be hotter'n a bug on a hot griddle."

"I got a plan warmin' up," said Sandy. "Nearest to the county line is
west through the Cabezas Range. Only two gaps, Paso Cabras, an' the
Bolsa."

"But the Bolsa...." started Sam.

Sandy checked him.

"I know. Listen! I aim to git to the railroad an' then me an' Molly'll
make for New Mexico."

"Huh!"

"You guessed it, Mormon. For the Pecos River an' Boville an' the Redding
Ranch. I reckon Barbara Redding'll handle the thing. She'll git Molly
her outfit an' she'll know all about the right schools."

Mormon brought his hand down on Sam's thigh with a sounding whack.

"Dern me, ef he ain't the wise ol' son of a gun," he cried delightedly.
"Sure!"

"It's the thing," assented Sam, rubbing himself, "but you don't have to
break my laig over it. Sandy, you sure use yo' brains."

Barbara Redding, once Barbara Barton of the celebrated Curly O, was a
bright star in the mutual firmament of the Three Star partners. They had
all worked together on the Curly O in the old days. Sandy had been
foreman there. Once he had rescued Barbara Barton from horse rustlers
with a grudge against her father and once again he had rendered her even
greater service when members of the same crowd kidnapped her
two-year-old son whom Barbara Redding had brought on a visit to his
grandfather. Sandy had trailed alone and brought in the "li'l' son of a
gun," as he styled the youngster. There was little that Barbara Redding
and her husband, wealthy rancher, would not do for Sandy.

"I've got an itch to give Plimsoll an' his pals a run fo' their money,"
went on Sandy. "An' here's the way I figger to do it, in the rough. See
what you all think of it."

Subdued guffaws rose from the porch in through the open window of the
room where Molly Casey lay wide awake, the dog beside her. Presently she
heard the martial strains of Sam's harmonica, cuddled under his big
mustache, played o