white horse that ran here and there, whinnying occasionally for the band,
and heard the creak of leather and the rattle of the bit. Pink was right;
the horse was saddled, ready for immediate flight.

"Maybe he's in the cabin," he whispered, coming up where Pink stood
listening tensely at all the little night sounds. Pink turned and crept
silently to the right, keeping in the deepest shade, while the others
followed willingly. They were beginning to see the great advantage of having
Pink along, even if he had called them Rubes.

The cabin door yawned wide open, and creaked weirdly as the light wind moved
it; the interior was black and silent--suspiciously silent, in the opinion
of the sheriff. He waited for some time before venturing in, fearing an
ambush. Then he caught the flicker of a shielded match, called out to Conroy
to surrender, and leveled his gun at the place.

There was no answer but the faint shuffle of stealthy feet on the board
floor. The sheriff called another warning, cocked his gun--and came near
shooting Pink, who walked composedly out of the door into the sheriff's
astonished face. The sheriff had been sure that Pink was just behind him.

"What the hell " began the sheriff explosively.

"He ain't here," said Pink simply. "I crawled in the window and hunted the
place over."

The sheriff glared at him dumbly; he could not reconcile Pink's daredevil
behavior with Pink's innocent, girlish appearance.

"I tell yuh the corral's what we want t' keep cases on," Pink added