y, Bob. Better send for
him. He's the greatest criminal lawyer in the business."

Bob laughed heartily with his old employer. From Poole he easily
obtained currency for his personal check of two hundred dollars. This
would do to go on with for the time being. He wrote Erbe's name and
address--in a disguised hand--on a piece of rough brown paper. This he
wrapped around the money, and deposited by the alarm clock on the rough
log mantelpiece of his cabin. The place was empty. When he had returned
from his invited supper with the Thornes, the package had disappeared.
He did not again catch sight of Jack Pollock, for next morning he
started out on his errand to the north end.

XIII

At noon of the second day of a journey that led him up the winding
watered valleys of the lower ranges, Bob surmounted a ridge higher than
the rest and rode down a long, wide slope. Here the character of the
country changed completely. Scrub oaks, young pines and chaparral
covered the ground. Among this growth Bob made out the ancient stumps of
great trees. The ranch houses were built of sawn lumber, and possessed
brick chimneys. In appearance they seemed midway between the farm houses
of the older settled plains and the rougher cabins of the mountaineers.

Bob continued on a dusty road until he rode into a little town which he
knew must be Durham. Its main street contained three stores, two
saloons, a shady tree, a windmill and watering trough and a dozen
chair-tilted loafers. A wooden sidewalk shaded by a wooden awning ran
the entire length of this collection of commercial enterprises. A
redwood hitching rail, much chewed, flanked it. Three saddle horses, and
as many rigs, dozed in the sun.

Bob tied his saddle horse to the rail, leaving the pack animal to its
own devices. Without attention to the curious stares of the loafers, he
pushed into the first store, and asked directions of the proprietor. The
man, a type of the transplanted Yankee, pushed the spectacles up over
his forehead, and coolly surveyed his questioner from head to foot
before answering.

"I see you're a ranger," he remarked drily. "Well, I wouldn't go to
Samuels's if I was you. He's give it out that he'll kill the next ranger
that sets foot on his place."

"I've heard that sort of talk before," replied Bob impatiently.

"Samuels means what he says," stated the storekeeper. "He drove off the
last of you fellows with a shotgun--and he went too."

"You haven't