next night--a curious coincidence, truly--and Gray's expression of
pleasure at the prospect of such a congenial traveling companion.
The agitated Coverly no doubt would have phoned a frantic call for
the police, then and there.

Once Gray was in his rooms, however, his manner changed, and into
his eyes there came a triumphant glitter. Hastily he rummaged
through one of his bags, and from a collection of trinkets,
souvenirs, and the like he selected an object which he examined
carefully, then took into the bathroom for further experiment. His
step was springy, his lips were puckered, he was whistling
blithely when he emerged, for at last those vaguely outlined plans
that had been at the back of his mind had assumed form and
pattern. His luck had turned, he had made a new start. Mallow was
indeed a crook, and Gray blessed the prompt good fortune that had
thrown both him and Coverly in his way.

It had been a busy day; he was well content with its fruitage.




CHAPTER III

Old Tom Parker was a "type." He was one of a small class of men at
one time common to the West, but now rapidly disappearing. A
turbulent lifetime spent in administering the law in a lawless
region had stamped him with the characteristics of a frontier
officer--_viz_., vigilance, caution, self-restraint, sang-froid.
For more than thirty years he had worn a badge of some sort and,