ttle
just then. For the Kid smiled.

"How do I know you're tellin' me the truth?" They had gone back to
Jimmie Clayton, Bedloe speaking suspiciously again. "How do I know you
ain't puttin' up a game on me? It's a nice lonely place, where that
dugout is."

The flush died out of the cowboy's tanned skin as swiftly as it had run
into it.

"I guess you can't tell," he retorted. "Unless you go and find out. And
you know if I wanted to get you I could have got you in there, and I
could have got you that time at Smith's. And," with an impudence to
match Bedloe's, "I could get you now!"

The Kid passed over the remark, his brows knitted thoughtfully.

"Well," he said in a moment, "you've shot your wad now, ain't you? I
guess there ain't no call for me an' you to talk all day."

"That's all. What'll I tell Jimmie?"

"You can tell him he ain't made no mistake. You may be lyin' an' you
may be tippin' me the straight. But he is a pal of mine an' a damn
decent little pal, an' I'll take a chance."

"You'll get him?"

"If he's there I'll get him."

"When?"

"You'd like the time o' day to the minute, I reckon!" He laughed softly.
"Jus' the first show I get, which'll be in three or four days."

"If you want a horse for him after a while, a good horse, I'll give him
one. That's the best I can do. And I guess that's all, Bedloe."

Thornton stepped back toward his horse. Bedloe turned abruptly and
strode through the crowd of men on the sidewalk and back to the saloon
and his game, no doubt. Thornton swung up into the saddle, and riding
swiftly, passed down the street and back toward the range. As he went he
felt little satisfaction in an errand done, little relief to have it
over. For he was thinking of the look in a girl's eyes, and again a
flush ran up into his cheeks, the bright flush of anger.

CHAPTER XVI

A GUARDED CONFERENCE

With flaming eyes Winifred Waverly whirled upon her uncle.

"Why do you suffer it?" she cried hotly. "The man knows that I was not
deceived by his idiotic mask, he knows that I have told you, and still
you let him go free where he pleases, swagger about with brawlers like
that horrible Kid Bedloe, and dribble your money over the bars for drink
and over the poker tables! Why do you suffer it?"

A fleeting smile of deep satisfaction brightened Pollard's eyes. They
had ridden home in silence and now, with the door barely closed behind
them, she had turned upon him with her indignant