Nothing to travel on after forty-eight hours--a posse started out next
morning, soon as they found him--when they got back they reported having
run the fellows as far as Cimmaron Crossing--there they got across into
the sand hills, and escaped."

"Who led the posse?"

"A man called Black, I think," he said.

"Black Bart?"

"Yes, that's the name; so, I reckon you didn't bury Willis Waite this
time, Captain. You wouldn't have thought he was a dead one if you had
heard him swear while he was telling the story--it did him proud; never
heard him do better since the second day at Gettysburg--had his ear shot
off then, and I had to fix him up--Lord, but he called me a few things."

Keith sat silent, fully convinced now that the doctor was telling the
truth, yet more puzzled than ever over the peculiar situation in which
he found himself involved.

"What brought the General up here?" he questioned, finally.

"I haven't much idea," was the reply. "I don't think I asked him
directly. I wasn't much interested. There was a hint dropped, however,
now you speak about it. He's keen after those papers, and doesn't
feel satisfied regarding the report of the posse. It's my opinion he's
trailing after Black Bart."

The dining-room was thinning out, and they were about the only ones left
at the tables. Keith stretched himself, looking around.

"Well, Doctor, I am very glad to have met you again, and to learn Waite
is actually alive. This is a rather queer affair, but will have to work
itself out. Anyway, I am too dead tired to-night to hunt after clues
in midst of this babel. I've been in the saddle most of the time for a
week, and have got to find a bed."

"I reckon you won't discover such a thing here," dryly. "Got seven in
a room upstairs, and others corded along the hall. Better share my
cell--only thing to do."

"That would be asking too much--I can turn in at the corral with Neb;
I've slept in worse places."

"Couldn't think of it, Keith," and the doctor got up. "Besides, you
sleep at night, don't you?"

"Usually, yes," the other admitted.

"Then you won't bother me any--no doctor sleeps at night in Sheridan;
that's our harvest time. Come on, and I'll show you the way. When
morning comes I'll rout you out and take my turn."

Keith had enjoyed considerable experience in frontier hotels, but
nothing before had ever quite equalled this, the pride of Sheridan.
The product of a mushroom town, which merely existed by gra