r
and to save you!"

The dust-cloud down the road came from a string of automobiles, flying
along at express speed. Kurt saw them with relief.

"Here come the cars on your trail," he called out. "Your father will be
in one of them."

* * * * *

Kurt opened the door of the car and stepped down. He could not help his
importance or his pride. Anderson, who came running between two cars
that had stopped abreast, was coatless and hatless, covered with dust,
pale and fire-eyed.

"Mr. Anderson, your daughter is safe--unharmed," Kurt assured him.

"My girl!" cried the father, huskily, and hurried to where she leaned
out of her seat.

"All right, dad," she cried, as she embraced him. "Only a little shaky
yet."

It was affecting for Dorn to see that meeting, and through it to share
something of its meaning. Anderson's thick neck swelled and colored, and
his utterance was unintelligible. His daughter loosened her arm from
round him and turned her face toward Kurt. Then he imagined he saw two
blue stars, sweetly, strangely shining upon him.

"Father, it was our friend from the Bend," she said. "He happened
along."

Anderson suddenly changed to the cool, smiling man Kurt remembered.

"Howdy, Kurt?" he said, and crushed Kurt's hand. "What'd you do to him?"

Kurt made a motion toward the back of the car. Then Anderson looked over
the seats. With that he opened the door and in one powerful haul he drew
Ruenke sliding out into the road. Ruenke's bruised and bloody face was
uppermost, a rather gruesome sight. Anderson glared down upon him, while
men from the other cars crowded around. Ruenke's eyes resembled those of
a cornered rat. Anderson's jaw bulged, his big hands clenched.

"Bill, you throw this fellow in your car and land him in jail. I'll make
a charge against him," said the rancher.

"Mr. Anderson, I can save some valuable time," interposed Kurt. "I've
got to return a car I broke down. And there's my wheat. Will you have
one of these men drive me back?"

"Sure. But won't you come home with us?" said Anderson.

"I'd like to. But I must get home," replied Kurt. "Please let me speak a
few words for your ear alone." He drew Anderson aside and briefly told
about the eighty thousand dollars; threw back his coat to show the
bulging pockets. Then he asked Anderson's advice.

"I'd deposit the money an' wire the Spokane miller," returned the
rancher. "I know him. He'll leave the money i