cabbard. The Winchester covered every step of his
progress, but he neither hastened nor faltered, though he knew his life
hung in the balance. If his steely blue eyes had released for one moment
the wolfish ones of the villain, if he had hesitated or hurried, he
would have been shot through the head.

But the eyes of a brave man are the king of weapons. Hardman's fingers
itched at the trigger he had not the courage to pull. For such an
unflawed nerve he knew himself no match.

"Keep back," he screamed. "Damn it, another step and I'll fire!"

But he did not fire, though Collins rode up to him, dismounted, and
threw the end of the rifle carelessly from him.

"Don't be rash, Hardman. I've come here to put you under arrest for
robbing the T. P. Limited, and I'm going to do it."

The indolent, contemptuous drawl, so free of even a suggestion of the
strain the sheriff must have been under, completed his victory. The
fellow lowered his rifle with a peevish oath.

"You're barkin' up the wrong tree, Mr. Collins."

"I guess not," retorted the sheriff easily. "Del, you better relieve Mr.
Hardman of his ballast. He ain't really fit to be trusted with a weapon,
and him so excitable. That Winchester came awful near going off, friend.
You don't want to be so careless when you're playing with firearms. It's
a habit that's liable to get you into trouble."

Collins had not shaved death so closely without feeling a reaction
of boyish gaiety at his adventure. It bubbled up in his talk like
effervescing soda.

"Now we'll go into a committee of the whole, gentlemen, adjourn to
the stable, and have a little game of 'Button, button, who's got the
button?' You first, Mr. Hardman. If you'll kindly shuck your coat and
vest, we'll begin button-hunting."

They diligently searched the miscreant without hiding anything
pertaining to "J. H. begins hear."

"He's bound to have it somewhere," asseverated Collins. "It don't stand
to reason he was making his getaway without that paper. We got to be
more thorough, Del."

Hawkes, under the direction of his friend, ripped up linings and
tore away pockets from clothing. The saddle on the bronco and the
saddle-blankets were also torn to pieces in vain.

Finally Hawkes scratched his poll and looked down on the wreckage. "I
hate to admit it, Val, but the old fox has got us beat; it ain't on his
person."

"Not unless he's got it under his skin," agreed Collins, with a grin.

"Maybe he ate it. Th