in the saddle of Waring's horse, Dex.
The buckskin whirled and dashed down the road, one rein dragging. Lorry
reached down, and with a sinuous sweep of his body recovered the loose
rein. As he swung round the first corner he waved something that looked
strangely like a club in a kind of farewell salute.

Alice Weston had risen. The undersheriff grabbed the reins of the horse
nearest him and mounted. Hardy ran to the other horse. Side by side they
raced down the street and disappeared round a corner.

"What is it?" queried Alice Weston.

Waring still sat on the steps. He was laughing when he turned to answer
the girl's question.

"Lorry and the sheriff had a little argument. Lorry didn't wait to
finish it. It was something about that hobo that bothered you
yesterday."

Alice crushed her handkerchief to her mouth. "I--shall we get ready for
dinner?" she stammered.

Mrs. Weston rose. "It's nothing serious, I hope. Do you think your--Mr.
Adams will be back to-night?"

"Not this evening," replied Waring.

"You mean that he won't be back at all?"

"Not unless he changes his mind. He's riding my horse."

"He took your horse?"

"Yes. I think he made a mistake in leaving so suddenly, but he didn't
make any mistake about the best horse."

"Aren't you worried about him?" queried Mrs. Weston.

"Why, no. The boy will take care of himself. Did you happen to notice
what he had in his hand when he ran across the veranda?"

"No. It happened so suddenly. Was it a pistol?"

Waring grinned. "No. It was a shoulder of lamb. The next town is thirty
miles south, and no restaurants on the way."

"But his mother--" began Alice Weston.

"Yes," said Waring. "I think that leg of lamb was for dinner to-night."

Alice Weston said nothing further, but as she got ready for dinner she
confessed to herself that the event of Lorry's escape would have been
much more thrilling, in retrospect at least, had he chosen to wave his
hasty farewell with a silken bandanna, or even a pistol. To ride off
like that, waving a leg of lamb!

Chapter XII

_Bud Shoop and Bondsman_

As a young man, Bud Shoop had punched cattle on the southern ranges,
cooked for a surveying outfit, prospected in the Mogollons, and essayed
homesteading on the Blue Mesa, served as cattle inspector, and held for
many years the position of foreman on the great Gila Ranch, where, with
diligence and honor, he had built up a reputation envied by many a
lively cow