around in his saddle and saw Cummings waving his hat. Checking his speed
somewhat he allowed the distance between them to become less, but
holding his horse well in hand, if any signs of treachery were observed
he could have some chance of escaping.

As the two men swept toward him they cried as in one voice:"

"Moriarity!"

Moriarity, for such it was, immediately drew up his horse and the three
friends were soon shaking hands.

"The fly-cops made it too hot for me, boys," said Dan. "I came within an
ace of being caught. One of the beaks had his hands on me, but I knocked
him down and lit out."

"Where are you bound for now?" asked Cummings.

"Down to Swanson's ranche."

"We were heading the same way," said Cummings.

Swanson's ranche, situated in the northeastern part of the Indian
Territory, near Coulby's Bluff, was about one hundred and fifty miles
south of Kansas City. The rolling prairie which stretched between was
interspersed with ranches, and an occasional small town, but for the
greater part was wild and uninhabited.

Swanson, an Americanized Norwegian, had married a Cherokee squaw, which
enabled him to locate in the Indian country. His reputation was none of