"Oh no, that's my man." Speed glanced around him. "And, by-the-
way, where is he?"

The sound of angry voices came through the gloom, then out into
the light came Still Bill Stover, Willie, and Carara, dragging
between them a globular person who was rebelling loudly.

"Stover, what is this?" questioned Miss Chapin, stepping to the
edge of the veranda.

"This gent stampedes in the midst of our welcome," explained the
foreman, "so we have to rope him before he gets away." It was
seen now that Carara's lariat was tightly drawn about the new
arrival's waist.

Then the valet broke into coherent speech, but he spoke a tongue
not common to his profession.

"Nix on that welcome stuff," he burst forth, in husky, alcoholic
accents; "that goes on the door-mat!" It was plain that he was
very angry. "If that racket means welcome, I don't want it. Take
that clothes-line off of me." Carara loosened the noose, and his
captive rolled up the steps mopping his face with his
handkerchief.

"What made you run away?" demanded Speed.

"Any time a bunch of bandits unhitch their gats, I'm on my way,"
sputtered the fat man. "I'm gun-shy, see? And when this hold-up
comes off I beat it till that Cuban rummy with the medals on his