llow that's in on that mine, with Leroy and York Neil. He's a big,
long-haired guy."

Collins' eyes narrowed to slits, as they always did when he was thinking
intensely. Were their suspicions of the showman about to be justified?
Did Jay Hardman's interest in Leroy have its source merely in their
being birds of a feather, or was there a more direct community of
lawlessness between them? Was he a member of Wolf Leroy's murderous
gang? Three men had joined in the chase of Dailey, but the tracks had
told him that only two horses had galloped from the scene of the murder
into the night. The inference left to draw was that a local accomplice
had joined them in the chase of Scott, and had slipped back home after
the deed had been finished.

What more likely than that Hardman had been this accomplice? Hawkes said
he was a big long-haired fellow. So was the man that had held up the
engineer of the Limited. He was--"J. H. begins hear." Like a flash the
ill-written scrawl jumped to his sight. "J. H." was Jay Hardman. What
luck!

The doctor finished his work, and Collins tested his leg gingerly.
"Del, I'm going over to have a little talk with the old man. Want to go
along?"

"You bet I do, Val"--from Del Hawkes.

"You mustn't walk on that leg for a week or two yet, Mr. Collins," the
doctor explained, shaking his head.

"That so, doctor? And it nothing but a nice clean flesh-wound! Sho! I've
a deal more confidence in you than that. Ready, Del?"

"It's at your risk then, Mr. Collins."

"Sure." The sheriff smiled. "I'm living at my own risk, doctor. But I'd
a heap rather be alive than daid, and take all the risk that's coming,
too. But since you make a point of it, I'll do most of my walking on a
bronco's back."

They found Mr. Hardman just emerging from the stable with a saddle-pony
when they rode into the corral. At a word from Collins, Hawkes took the
precaution to close the corral gate.

The fellow held a wary position on the farther side of his horse, the
while he ripped out a raucous string of invectives.

"Real fluent, ain't he?" murmured Hawkes, as he began to circle round to
flank the enemy.

"Stay right there, Del Hawkes. Move, you redhaided son of a brand
blotter, and I'll pump holes in you!" A rifle leveled across the saddle
emphasized his sentiments.

"Plumb hospitable," grinned Hawkes, coming promptly to a halt.

Collins rode slowly forward, his hand on the butt of the revolver that
still lay in its s