got to stay and talk with Miss Joyce. And, say, take along a rope. Might
need it."

A moment later Hart was in the restaurant commandeering rice and Sanders
was lifting his dusty hat to the young woman in the buggy.

"If I can he'p you any, Miss Joyce," he said.

Beneath dark and delicate brows she frowned at him. "Who are you?"

"Dave Sanders my name is. I reckon you never heard tell of me. I punch
cows for yore father."

Her luminous, hazel-brown eyes steadied in his, read the honesty of his
simple, boyish heart.

"You heard what I said to that man?"

"Part of it."

"Well, it's true. I know it is, but I can't prove it."

Hart, moving swiftly down the street, waved a hand at his friend as he
passed. Without turning his attention from Joyce Crawford, Dave
acknowledged the signal.

"How do you know it?"

"Steelman's men have been watching our house. They were hanging around at
different times day before yesterday. This man Shorty was one."