s tenth day was
over!"

Hollis smiled oddly. "Perhaps," he returned; "there is no law, moral or
otherwise, to prevent a man from looking a little ahead."

After breakfast Hollis gave orders to have Greasy prepared for travel,
and an hour later he and the range boss, both armed with rifles, rode
out of the corral yard with Greasy riding between them and took the Dry
Bottom trail.

The earth had already dried; the trail was hard, level, and dustless,
and traveling was a pleasure. But neither of the three spoke a word to
one another during the entire trip to Dry Bottom. Greasy bestrode his
horse loosely, carelessly defiant; Norton kept a watchful eye on him,
and Hollis rode steadily, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the trail.

At ten o'clock they rode into Dry Bottom. There were not many persons
about, but those who were gave instant evidence of interest in the three
by watching them closely as they rode down the street to the sheriff's
office, dismounted, and disappeared inside.

The sheriff's office was in a little frame shanty not over sixteen feet
square, crude and unfinished. There were a front and back door, two
windows--one in the side facing the court house, the other in the front.
For furniture there were a bench, two chairs, some shelves, a cast iron
stove, a wooden box partly filled with saw-dust which was used as a
cuspidor, and a rough wooden table which served as a desk. In a chair
beside the desk sat a tall, lean-faced man, with a nose that suggested
an eagle's beak, with its high, thin, arched bridge, little, narrowed,
shifting eyes, and a hard mouth whose lips were partly concealed under a
drooping, tobacco-stained mustache. He turned as the three men entered,
leaning back in his chair, his legs a-sprawl, motioning them to the
chairs and the bench. They filed in silently. Greasy dropped carelessly
into one of the chairs, Norton took another near him, but Hollis
remained standing.

"You are the sheriff, I suppose?" inquired the latter.

The official spat copiously into the wooden box without removing his
gaze from the three visitors.

"Yep," he returned shortly, his voice coming with a truculent snap. "You
wantin' the sheriff?"

Hollis saw a swift, significant glance pass between him and Greasy and
he smiled slightly.

"Yes," he returned quietly; "we want you. We are delivering this man
into your custody."

"What's he done?" demanded the sheriff.

"I charge him with stealing two of my steers,