e door! No mistakes. If the warrant is right you get your
man. Any reward?"

"He's a stiff-necked piece," said Fewell. "But he'll do just what he
says. Here, give me your warrant. He won't hurt me--if you fellows
hold steady. If you don't, you've murdered me, that's all. Hey, Dines!
You stubborn long-eared Missouri mule, I'm coming, as per
instructions--me, Bill Fewell. You be careful!"

He backed up and stood framed in the open door against the lamplight.
Johnny's hand flickered out and snatched the warrant.

"Why, sheriff, this seems to be all right. Only he gave me a different
name. But then, he naturally would. Why, this warrant is all
shipshape. Hope I get some of that reward. Here's your man, and here
are my guns." He appeared at the door and tossed his guns down. The
sheriff crowded by, and broke into a bellow of rage.

"You fool! You blundering idiot! This is one of my posse!"

"What?" Johnny's jaw dropped in pained surprise. "He's a liar, then.
He told me he was an outlaw. Don't blame me!"

"You hell-sent half-wit! Where's that other man--Jones?"

"Oh, him? He's down the canyon, sir. He went with Bob after horses. He
hasn't got back yet, sir."

"Dines, you scoundrel! Are you trying to make a fool out of me?"

"Oh, no, sir! Impossible. Not at all, sir. If you and your posse will
take cover, sir, I'll capture him for you when he comes back, just as
I did this one, sir. We are always glad to use the Bar Cross house as
a trap and the Bar Cross grub for bait. As you see, sir."

"Damn you, Dines, that man isn't coming back!"

Johnny considered this for a little. Then he looked up with innocent
eyes.

"Perhaps you are right, sir," he said thoughtfully.

* * * * *

Long since, the floods have washed out the Bar Cross horse camp, torn
away pens and flat and house, leaving from hill to hill a desolate
wash of gravel and boulders--so that no man may say where that poor
room stood. Yet youth housed there and hope, honor and courage and
loyalty; there are those who are glad it shall shelter no meaner
thing.

III

"I do believe there shall be a winter yet in heaven--and in hell."
--_Paradise and the Periscope._

"Realism, _n._ The art of depicting nature as it is seen by toads."
--_The Devil's Dictionary._

"They sit brooding on a garbage scow and tell us how bad the world
smells."