Jim Waring of Sonora-Town Part 19

"How do you figure that?"

"You've aided a prisoner to escape. You broke the law."

"What right had you to hold him?"

"Your own story. You brought him in yourself."

"I sure did. But supposin' I say I ain't got nothin' against him, and the folks over there won't appear against him, how could you prove anything?"

"He's under suspicion. You said yourself he was holding up them tourists."

"But you can't make me swear that in court."

Buck Hardy glared at the younger man. "See here, Lorry, I don't understand your game. Suppose the man ain't guilty. He was locked up--and by me, representing this county. You can't prove that the Starr boys would have done anything to him. And you can't monkey with the law to suit yourself as long as I'm sheriff. Am I right?" And Hardy turned to Waring.

"You're right, Hardy."

Lorry's gray eyes shone with a peculiar light. "What you goin' to do about it, Buck?"

"Two of my boys are out looking for the man. You're under arrest till he is brought in."

"You aim to lock me in that calaboose?"

"No. But, understand, you're under arrest. You can't leave town."

"Say, now, Buck, ain't you kind of crowdin' me into the fence?"

"I'd arrest my own brother for a trick like that."

Lorry gazed at the ground for a minute. He glanced up. Alice Weston sat watching them. She could not hear what they were saying, but their att.i.tudes confirmed her apprehension.

"I'd like to speak to ma a minute," said Lorry.

"Go ahead. There's no hurry."

Waring, who had been watching his son closely, strolled to the veranda steps and sat down.

Hardy lighted a cigar. "I hate to do this, Waring," he told the other.

"That's all right, Hardy."

The sheriff leaned close. "I figured to bluff him into telling which way the hobo went. Mebby he'll talk later."

Waring smiled. "You have a free hand so far as I am concerned," he said.

Alice Weston was talking with her mother when she heard a cautious step on the stairway behind her. She turned her head slightly. Lorry, booted and spurred, stood just within the doorway. He had something in his hand; a peculiarly shaped bundle wrapped loosely in a newspaper. Hardy was talking to Waring. The undersheriff was standing close to Waring's horse. Alice Weston had seen the glint in Lorry's eyes. She held her breath.

Without a word of warning, and before the group on the veranda knew what was happening, Lorry shot from the doorway, leaped from the edge of the veranda rail, and alighted square in the saddle of Waring's horse, Dex.

The buckskin whirled and dashed down the road, one rein dragging. Lorry reached down, and with a sinuous sweep of his body recovered the loose rein. As he swung round the first corner he waved something that looked strangely like a club in a kind of farewell salute.

Alice Weston had risen. The undersheriff grabbed the reins of the horse nearest him and mounted. Hardy ran to the other horse. Side by side they raced down the street and disappeared round a corner.

"What is it?" queried Alice Weston.

Waring still sat on the steps. He was laughing when he turned to answer the girl's question.

"Lorry and the sheriff had a little argument. Lorry didn't wait to finish it. It was something about that hobo that bothered you yesterday."

Alice crushed her handkerchief to her mouth. "I--shall we get ready for dinner?" she stammered.

Mrs. Weston rose. "It's nothing serious, I hope. Do you think your--Mr.

Adams will be back to-night?"

"Not this evening," replied Waring.

"You mean that he won't be back at all?"

"Not unless he changes his mind. He's riding my horse."

"He took your horse?"

"Yes. I think he made a mistake in leaving so suddenly, but he didn't make any mistake about the best horse."

"Aren't you worried about him?" queried Mrs. Weston.

"Why, no. The boy will take care of himself. Did you happen to notice what he had in his hand when he ran across the veranda?"

"No. It happened so suddenly. Was it a pistol?"

Waring grinned. "No. It was a shoulder of lamb. The next town is thirty miles south, and no restaurants on the way."

"But his mother--" began Alice Weston.

"Yes," said Waring. "I think that leg of lamb was for dinner to-night."

Alice Weston said nothing further, but as she got ready for dinner she confessed to herself that the event of Lorry's escape would have been much more thrilling, in retrospect at least, had he chosen to wave his hasty farewell with a silken bandanna, or even a pistol. To ride off like that, waving a leg of lamb!

Chapter XII

_Bud Shoop and Bondsman_

As a young man, Bud Shoop had punched cattle on the southern ranges, cooked for a surveying outfit, prospected in the Mogollons, and essayed homesteading on the Blue Mesa, served as cattle inspector, and held for many years the position of foreman on the great Gila Ranch, where, with diligence and honor, he had built up a reputation envied by many a lively cow-puncher and seldom tampered with even by Bud's most vindictive enemies. And he had enemies and many friends.

Meanwhile he had taken on weight until, as one of his friends remarked, "Most any hoss but a Percheron draft would shy the minute Bud tried to put his foot in the stirrup."