r and swung round in a wavering arc.
When the car faced the east she stopped it.

Lorry rode alongside. She thanked him for his services. "And please
don't do anything to that man," she pleaded. "He has been punished
enough. You almost killed him. He looked so wretched. Can't you give him
a good talking to and let him go?"

"I could, ma'am. But it ain't right. He'll try this here stunt again.
There's a reward out for him."

"But won't you--please!"

Lorry flushed. "You got a good heart all right, but you ain't been long
in the West. Such as him steals hosses and holds up folks and robs
trains--"

"But you're not an officer," she said, somewhat unkindly.

"I reckon any man is an officer when wimmin-folk is gettin' robbed. And
I aim to put him where he belongs."

"Thank you for helping us," said the girl's mother.

"You're right welcome, ma'am." And, raising his hat, Lorry turned and
rode to where the man lay.

The car crept up the slope. Lorry watched it until it had topped the
ridge. Then he dismounted and turned the man over.

"What you got to say about my turnin' you loose?" he queried as the
other sat up.

"Nothin'."

"All right. Get a movin'--and don't try to run. I got my rope handy."

Chapter IX

_High-Chin Bob_

The man's rusty black coat was torn and wrinkled. His cheap cotton shirt
was faded and buttonless. His boots were split at the sole, showing part
of a bare foot. He was grimy, unshaven, and puffed unhealthily beneath
the eyes. Lorry knew that he was but an indifferent rider without seeing
him on a horse. He was a typical railroad tramp, turned highwayman.

"Got another gun on you?" queried Lorry.

The man shook his head.

"Where'd you steal that horse?"

"Who says I stole him?"

"I do. He's a Starr horse. He was turned out account of goin' lame. Hop
along. I'll take care of him."

The man plodded across the sand. Lorry followed on Gray Leg, and led the
other horse. Flares of noon heat shot up from the reddish-gray levels.
Lorry whistled, outwardly serene, but inwardly perturbed. That girl had
asked him to let the man go and she had said "please." But, like all
women, she didn't understand such things.

They approached a low ridge and worked up a winding cattle trail. On the
crest Lorry reined up. The man sat down, breathing heavily.

"What you callin' yourself?" asked Lorry.

"A dam' fool."

"I knew that. Anything else?"

"Waco--mebby."

"Waco, eh? Well, that'