at the stable-end, we led our mounts inside.
Goodell paused in the doorway and emitted a whistle of surprise at sight
of a horse in one of the stalls. I looked over his shoulder and
recognized at a glance the rangy black MacRae had ridden.

"They must have given Mac's horse to another trooper," I hazarded.

"Not that you could notice," Goodell replied, going on in. "They don't
switch mounts in the Force. If they have now, it's the first time to my
knowledge. When a man's in clink, his nag gets nothing but mild exercise
till his rightful rider gets out. And MacRae got thirty days. Well,
we'll soon find out who rode him in."

I pulled the saddle off my horse, slapped it down on the dirt floor, and
went stalking up to the long cabin. The first man my eyes lighted upon
as I stepped inside was MacRae, humped disconsolately on the edge of a
bunk. I was mighty glad to see him, but I hadn't time to more than say
"hello" before Goodell and the others came in. Mac drew a letter from
his pocket and handed it to Goodell.

He glanced quickly through it, then swept the rest of us with a
quizzical smile. "By Jove! you must have a pull with the old man, Mac,"
he said to MacRae. "I suppose you know what's in this epistle?"

"Partly." Mac answered as though it were no particular concern of his.

"I'm to turn Hicks and Gregory over to you," he read the note again to
be sure of his words, "see that you get a week's supply of grub here,
and then leave you to your own devices. What's the excitement, now?
Piegans on the war-path? Bull-train missing, or whisky-runners getting
too fresh, or what? My word, the major has certainly established a
precedent; you're the first man I've known that got thirty days in clink
and didn't have to serve it to the last, least minute. How the deuce did
you manage it? Put me on, like a good fellow--I might want to get a
sentence suspended some day. Any of us are liable to get it, y'know."
Goodell's tone was full of gentle raillery.

"The high and mighty sent me out to lead a forlorn hope," Mac dryly
responded. "Does that look like a suspended sentence?" He turned his arm
so that we could see the ripped stitching where his sergeant's stripes
had been cut away.

"Tough--but most of us have been there, one time or another," Goodell
observed sympathetically; and with that the subject rested.

Though I was burning to know things, we hadn't the least chance to talk
that evening. Nine lusty-lunged adults in th