no humor to allow a technical boundary line to keep him from capturing
his men, who, riding around the edge of an elevation on the prairie were
now lost to sight.

"Brodey," he said, turning to the ranger who had been the guide of the
expedition from the time it started from Kansas City, "how far is it to
Swanson's ranche?"

"A matter of twenty-five miles, as the crow flies."

"How far by the trail?"

"Well, Cap'n," responded Brodey, reflectively, as he threw his knee over
the pommel of his saddle, "lemme see. The trail goes by that there belt
of timber, then jines the stage-road to Allewe, an' follows that a
piece, then it shunts off to the west straight for the bluff thar, purty
nearly a bee-line. Thirty mile, sure--mebbe less."

"Is that the Indian Territory 'tother side of the divide?"

"Jesso--Cherokee Nation."

"What sort of a man is this Swanson?"

"Half-buffalo, half-painter, an' other half crocodile. He's wuss than a
half-breed Apache, an would as soon shoot a man as to drink, an'
Swanson's a right powerful punisher of the whisky-jug."

"Yes! yes! I know all that, but is he cunning, shrewd, sharp, you know?"