ery time I can.
It wouldn't be a bad scheme to watch for me once in a while--I might have
some news for you."

Bill's offer, plain as it was that he wished to help, not only because
he was in debt to the outlaw, but also because he wished to have safe
trips, touched the horseman deeply. Never in his life had The Orphan
been offered a helping hand from a stranger; all he could hope for was
to get the drop first. He rode on silently, buried in thought, and then,
suddenly flipping his cigarette at a cactus, raised his head and looked
full at the man above him.

"You play square with me, Bill, and I'll take care of you," he replied.
"The less you say, the less apt you are to put your foot in it. I'll
hold my mouth about your information, for if Shields knew what you've
just said he'd play a tune for you to dance to. The Cross Bar-8 would
shoot you before a day passed. Any time you have news for me, tie your
kerchief to that cactus," pointing to an exceptionally tall plant close
at hand. "Do it on your outward trip. If I see it in time I'll meet you
somewhere on the Sagetown end of the trail on your return. I'm going
back now, so by-by."

"So long, and good luck," replied Bill heartily. "I'll do the handkerchief
game, all right. Be some cautious about the way you buzz around that
stacked deck of a Cross Bar-8 for the next few days."

The Orphan wheeled and cantered back, making a detour to the south, for
he had a plan to develop and did not wish to be interrupted by meeting
any more hunting parties. Bill lashed his team and rolled on his way to
Sagetown, a happy smile illuminating his countenance.

"They can't beat us, bronchs," he cried to his team. "Me and The Orphant
can lick the whole blasted territory, you bet we can!"

CHAPTER X

THE ORPHAN PAYS TWO CALLS

Shortly after nightfall a rider cantered along the stage route, fording
the Limping Water and rode toward the town, whose few lights were bunched
together as if for protection against the spirits of the night. He
soon passed the scattered corrals on the outskirts of Ford's Station
and, slowing to a walk, went carelessly past the row of saloons and the
general store and approached a neat, small house some two hundred yards
west of the stage office. He appeared careless as to being seen; in fact
a casual observer would have thought him to be some cowboy who was
familiar with the town and who feared the recognition of no man. But while
he had no fear,