is head
she saw that his hair was tinged with gray, although his face was lined
but little and his gray eyes were as keen and quick as ever. If he had
only shared even that part of his life with her--down there!

"Jim!" she whispered.

He turned as he took up his coat. "Yes, Annie?"

"If you would only promise--"

He shook his head. "I won't do that. I didn't come to ask anything of
you except to see the boy But if you need money--"

"No. Not that kind of money."

"All right, girl." And his voice was cheery. "I didn't come here to make
you feel bad. And I won't be here long. Can't we be friends while I'm
here? Of course the boy will know. But no one else need know. And--you
better see to the folks downstairs. Some one just came in."

She turned and walked down the hall, wondering if he had ever cared for
her, and wondering if her boy, Lorry, would ever come to possess that
almost unhuman quality of intense alertness, that incomprehensible
coolness that never allowed him to forget what he was for an instant.

When Waring came down she did not introduce him to the boarders, a fact
that sheriff Buck Hardy, who dined at the hotel, noted with some
interest. The men ate hastily, rose, and departed, leaving Hardy and
Waring, who called for a second cup of coffee and rolled a cigarette
while waiting.

Hardy had seen the stranger ride into town on the big buckskin. The
horse bore a Mexican brand. The hotel register told Hardy who the
stranger was. And the sheriff of Stacey County was curious to know just
what the Sonora gunman was doing in town.

Waring sat with his unlighted cigarette between his fingers. The sheriff
proffered a match. Their eyes met. Waring nodded his thanks and blew a
smoke-ring.

"How are things down in Sonora?" queried Hardy.

"Quiet."

Mrs. Adams questioned Waring with her eyes. He nodded. "This is Mr.
Waring," she said, rising. "This is Mr. Hardy, our sheriff."

The men shook hands. "Mrs. Adams is a good cook," said Waring.

A clatter of hoofs and the sound of a cheery voice broke the silence.

A young cowboy jingled into the room. "Hello, Buck! Hello, mother!" And
Lorry Adams strode up and kissed his mother heartily. "Got a runnin'
chance to come to town and I came--runnin'. How's everything?"

Mrs. Adams murmured a reply. Buck Hardy was watching Waring as he
glanced up at the boy. The sheriff pulled a cigar from his vest and
lighted it. In the street he paused in his stride, gazing