"Mighty sorry it took so long," said Perris. "You see, I was right in
the middle of a little poker game that hung on uncommon long. But when
it finished up, me and Shorty come as fast as we could. Eh, Shorty?"

"Huh!" grunted Shorty. Marianne looked to her messenger for the first
time.

He sat his saddle loosely, one hand falling heavily on the pommel, and
his head bent. He did not raise it to meet her glance, but rolled his
eyes up in a gloomy scowl which flitted over her face and then came to a
rest on the face of Red Jim Perris. A frown of weariness puckered the
brow of Shorty. Purple, bruised places of sleeplessness surrounded his
eyes. And every line of age or worry or labor was graven more deeply on
his face.

"Huh!" grunted Shorty again, mumbling his words very much like a
drunkard. "I've killed my Mamie hoss, that's all!"

And with this gloomy retort, he urged the mare to a down-headed trot. In
fact, the staunch little brown mare staggered on tired legs and her
sides heaved like bellows. The grey horse of Red Jim Perris was in
hardly better condition.

"I wanted you quickly," said Marianne, a little horrified. "But I didn't
ask you to kill your horses coming."

"Kill 'em?" said Perris, and he cast a sharp glance of disapproval at
her. "Not much! That hoss of mine is a pile fagged. I aim to get her
that way. But she'll be fit as a fiddle in the morning. I ride her till