listen for Steele's soft step, but for any sound--the yelp of coyote or
mourn of wolf, the creak of wind in the dead brush, the distant clatter
of hoofs, a woman's singing voice faint from the town.

This time, just when I was about to give up for that evening, Steele
came looming like a black giant long before I heard his soft step. It
was good to feel his grip, even if it hurt, because after five days I
had begun to worry.

"Well, old boy, how's tricks?" he asked easily.

"Well, old man, did you land that son of a gun in jail?"

"You bet I did. And he'll stay there for a while. Del Rio rather liked
the idea, Russ. All right there. I side-stepped Sanderson on the way
back. But over here at the little village--Sampson they call it--I was
held up. Couldn't help it, because there wasn't any road around."

"Held up?" I queried.

"That's it, the buckboard was held up. I got into the brush in time to
save my bacon. They began to shoot too soon."

"Did you get any of them?"

"Didn't stay to see," he chuckled. "Had to hoof it to Linrock, and it's
a good long walk."

"Been to your 'dobe yet to-night?"