cAlpin, shaking
his head dubiously as he called a man to take the horse, unstrapped
de Spain's coat from the saddle, and followed the manager into the
office.

The heat was oppressive, and de Spain unbuckled his cartridge-belt,
slipped his revolver from the holster, mechanically stuck it inside
his trousers waistband, hung the heavy belt up under his coat, and,
sitting down, called for the stage report and asked whether the new
blacksmith had sobered up. When McAlpin had given him all minor
information called for, de Spain walked with him out into the barn to
inspect the horses. Passing the very last of the box-stalls, the
manager saw in it a pony. He stopped. No second glance was needed to
tell him it was a good horse; then he realized that this wiry,
sleek-legged roan, contentedly munching at the moment some company
hay, was Nan Morgan's.

McAlpin, talking volubly, essayed to move on, but de Spain, stubbornly
pausing, only continued to look at the handsome saddle-horse. McAlpin
saw he was in for it, and resigned himself to an inquisition. When de
Spain asked whose horse it was, McAlpin was ready. "That little pony
is Nan Morgan's, sir."

De Spain made no comment. "Good-looking pony, sir," ventured McAlpin
half-heartedly.

"What's it doing here?" demanded de Spain coldly.

Before answering, the barn boss eyed de Spain very carefully to see
how the wind was setting, for the pony's presence confessed an
infraction of a very particular rule. "You see," he began, cocking at
his strict boss from below his visorless cap a questioning Scotch eye,
"I like to keep on good terms with that gang. Some of them can be very
ugly. It's better to be friends with them when you can--by stretching
the barn rules a little once in a while--than to have enemies of 'em
all the time--don't you think so, sir?"

"What's her horse doing here?" asked de Spain, without commenting on
the long story, but also without showing, as far as the barnman could
detect, any growing resentment at the infraction of his regulations.

McAlpin made even the most inconsequential approaches to a statement
with a keen and questioning glance. "The girl went up to the Cat on
the early stage, sir. She's coming back this afternoon."

"What is she riding away over here to Calabasas for to take the stage,
instead of riding straight into Sleepy Cat?"

Once more McAlpin eyed him carefully. "The girl's been sick."

"Sick?"

"She ain't really fit to ride a step,