ide pocket of
the coat was drawn blank of all but a piece of newspaper, and Tresler
pronounced his verdict in no measured terms.

"You drunken little fool, you've lost it," he said, as he held out the
unfolded newspaper.

Joe seemed past resentment with his fresh trouble. He squinted hard to
get the newspaper into proper focus.

"Say," he observed meekly, "I guess it wus in that, sure. Sure, yes,"
he nodded emphatically, "I planted it that a-ways to kep it from the
dirt. I 'member readin' the headin' o' that paper. Et wus 'bout some
high-soundin' female in New Yo----"

"Confound it!" Tresler was more distressed for the little man than
angry with him. He knew Jake would be furious, and cast about in his
mind for excuses that might save him. The only one he could think of
was feeble enough, but he suggested it.

"Well, there's only one thing to do; we must ride back, and you can
say you lost the letter on the way out, and have spent the day looking
for it."

Joe seemed utterly dejected. "Sure, yes. There's on'y one thing to
do," he murmured disconsolately. "We must ride back. Say, you're sure,
plumb sure it ain't in one of my pockets? Dead sure I must 'a' lost
it?"

"No doubt of it. Damn it, Joe, I'm sorry. You'll be in a deuce of a
scrape with Jake. It's all that cursed drink."

"That's so," murmured the culprit mournfully. His face was turned
away. Now it suddenly brightened as though a fresh and more hopeful
view of the matter had presented itself, and his twisted features
slowly wreathed themselves into a smile. His deep-set eyes twinkled
with an odd sort of mischievous humor as he raised them abruptly to
the troubled face of his companion.

"Guess I kind o' forgot to tell you. I gave the sheriff that letter
this mornin' 'fore I called on Carney. Mebbe, ef I'd told you 'fore
I'd 'a' saved you----"

"You little----"

Tresler could find no words to express his exasperation. He made a
grab at the now grinning man's coat collar, seized him, and, lifting
him bodily, literally threw him on to the back of his buckskin pony.

"You little old devil!" he at last burst out; "you stay there, and
back you go to the ranch. I'll shake the liquor out of you before we
get home."

Tresler sprang into his saddle, and, turning his mare's head homeward,
led the buckskin and its drunken freight at a rattling pace. And Joe
kept silence for a while. He felt it was best so. But, in the end, he
was the first to speak, and wh