ed a prisoner to escape. You broke the law."

"What right had you to hold him?"

"Your own story. You brought him in yourself."

"I sure did. But supposin' I say I ain't got nothin' against him, and
the folks over there won't appear against him, how could you prove
anything?"

"He's under suspicion. You said yourself he was holding up them
tourists."

"But you can't make me swear that in court."

Buck Hardy glared at the younger man. "See here, Lorry, I don't
understand your game. Suppose the man ain't guilty. He was locked
up--and by me, representing this county. You can't prove that the Starr
boys would have done anything to him. And you can't monkey with the law
to suit yourself as long as I'm sheriff. Am I right?" And Hardy turned
to Waring.

"You're right, Hardy."

Lorry's gray eyes shone with a peculiar light. "What you goin' to do
about it, Buck?"

"Two of my boys are out looking for the man. You're under arrest till he
is brought in."

"You aim to lock me in that calaboose?"

"No. But, understand, you're under arrest. You can't leave town."

"Say, now, Buck, ain't you kind of crowdin' me into the fence?"

"I'd arrest my own brother for a trick like that."

Lorry gazed at the ground for a minute. He glanced up. Alice Weston sat
watching them. She could not hear what they were saying, but their
attitudes confirmed her apprehension.

"I'd like to speak to ma a minute," said Lorry.

"Go ahead. There's no hurry."

Waring, who had been watching his son closely, strolled to the veranda
steps and sat down.

Hardy lighted a cigar. "I hate to do this, Waring," he told the other.

"That's all right, Hardy."

The sheriff leaned close. "I figured to bluff him into telling which way
the hobo went. Mebby he'll talk later."

Waring smiled. "You have a free hand so far as I am concerned," he said.

Alice Weston was talking with her mother when she heard a cautious step
on the stairway behind her. She turned her head slightly. Lorry, booted
and spurred, stood just within the doorway. He had something in his
hand; a peculiarly shaped bundle wrapped loosely in a newspaper. Hardy
was talking to Waring. The undersheriff was standing close to Waring's
horse. Alice Weston had seen the glint in Lorry's eyes. She held her
breath.

Without a word of warning, and before the group on the veranda knew what
was happening, Lorry shot from the doorway, leaped from the edge of the
veranda rail, and alighted square