insistently. "He's sure somewheres around--I'd gamble on it. He saddled that
horse t' git away on. That horse is sure the key t' this situation,
old-timer. If you fellows'll keep cases on the gate, I'll cover the rear."

He made his way quietly to the back of the corral, inwardly much amused at
the tractability of the sheriff, who took his deputy obediently to watch the
gate.

Pink squatted comfortably in the shade of a willow and wished he dared
indulge in a cigarette, and wondered what scheme Harry was trying to play.

Fifty feet away the big white horse still circled round and round, rattling
his bridle impatiently and shaking the saddle in an occasional access of
rage, and whinnying lonesomely out into the gloom.

So they waited and waited, and peered into the shadows, and listened to the
trampling horse fretting for freedom and his mates.

The cook had just called breakfast when Pink dashed up to the tent, flung
himself from his horse, and confronted Rowdy--a hollow-eyed, haggard Rowdy
who had not slept all night, and whose eyes questioned anxiously.

"Well," Rowdy said, with what passed for composure, "did you get him?"

Pink leaned against his horse, with one hand reaching up and gripping
tightly the horn of the saddle. His cheeks held not a trace of color, and
his eyes were full of a great horror.

"They're bringin' him t' camp," he answered huskily. "We found a horse--a
big white horse they call the Fern Outlaw"--the Silent One started and came