led light leaped into his dark eyes, and
the next moment his movements became almost electrical. He reached the
door on the run and looked out. His horse was standing with head held
high and ears pricked. The creature was gazing fixedly in the
direction from which it had approached the clearing.

Charlie needed nothing more. Something was approaching. Probably
another horse. If so there was equally the probability of a rider upon
its back.

He closed the door quickly and carefully behind him, and hurried
toward the corral. He threw down the poles that barred it, and made
his way to the side of the wagon. Then his movements became more
leisurely.

Opening the wagon box he drew out a jack and a tin of grease. Then,
still with an easy, leisurely air he jacked up one wheel and removed
an axle cap.

He was intent upon his work now--curiously intent. He removed the
wheel and smeared the inside of the hub with the filthy looking
grease. His horse beyond the fence gave another whinny, which ended in
a welcoming neigh. The man did not even look up. He replaced the wheel
and spun it round. Then he examined the felloes which had shrunk in
the summer heat. An answering neigh, and a final equine duet still
failed to draw his attention. Nor, until a voice beyond the fence
greeted him, did he look up.

"Getting ready for a journey?" said the voice casually.

Charlie looked round into the keen face of Stanley Fyles. He smiled
pleasantly.

"Not exactly a journey," he said. Then he glanced quickly at the
hay-rack standing on its side. "Say, doing anything?" he cried, and
his smile was not without derision.

"Nothing particular," replied the police officer, "unless you reckon
getting familiar with the geography of the valley particular."

Charlie nodded.

"I'd say that's particular for--a police officer." His rich voice was
at curious variance with his appearance. It was not unlike a terrier
with the bay of a bloodhound.

The phenomenon was not lost upon Fyles. He was studying this meager
specimen of a prairie "crook." He had never before met one quite like
him. He felt that here was a case of brain rather than physical
outlawry. It might be harder to deal with than the savage, illiterate
toughs he was used to.

"Yes," returned Fyles, "we need to learn things."

"Sure."

Charlie pointed at the hay-rack.

"Guess you don't feel like giving us a hand tipping that on to the
wagon? I'm going haying to-morrow."

"Sure,"