sound like the beginning of a stampede, in this brush."

The sheriff had never before been called a Rube--to his face, at least. The
audacity took his breath; and when he opened his mouth for scathing speech,
Pink was not there. He had slipped away, like a slim, elusive shadow, and
the sheriff did not even know the exact direction of his going. There was
nothing for it but to wait.

In five minutes Pink appeared with a silent suddenness that startled them
more than they would like to own.

"He's somewheres around," he announced, in a murmur that would not carry ten
feet. "He's got a horse in the corral, and, from the sound, he's got him all
saddled; and the gate's tied shut with a rope."

"How d'yuh know?" grunted the sheriff crossly.

"Felt of it, yuh chump. He's turned the bunch loose and kept up a fresh one,
like I said he would. It's blame dark, but I could see the horse--a big
white devil. It's him yuh hear makin' all that racket. If he gits away
now--"

"Well, we didn't come for a chin-whackin' bee," snapped the sheriff. "I come
out here t' git him."

Pink gritted his teeth again, and wished the sheriff was just a man, so he
could lick him. He led them forward without a word, thinking that Rowdy
wanted Harry Conroy captured.

The sheriff circled warily the corral, peered through the rails at the great