hat account to keep sweet with the best cook I ever encountered.
Then, too, I should pay Mr. Finch fifty dollars. After that, if there
is any left, I hope you can keep it for me until I can add it up to a
profitable figure."

"Ah! here's Mr. Logan," interrupted the cashier. "You gentlemen just
come into the customers' room and we will work out the details."

"You are prompt. I thought I would beat you here," said Logan to Davy
and his party. "Saturday I had a deed prepared to the Barrow ranch and
had the judge approve the sale with the conditions of possession as
stated agreed. I have it here and ready for delivery."

It was Mr. Gore, the courteous cashier, who took charge of the
business. He secured the endorsement of Davy's draft, took his
verified signature, drew the required checks, saw them signed and
exchanged. The entire transaction was completed in a few minutes.

"You will see Mr. Finch before I do," said Davy to Logan. "Will you
please hand him this check for fifty which completes my obligations to
him and tell him that I am having the cattle remaining on the ranch
appraised. If the appraisal warrants, I will pay the balance of his
bill and send the remainder to Hulls Barrow."

"Appraised! Bosh!" snorted the bank receiver. "You'll not get close to
see any part of the ranch, let alone counting the scrub cattle. I've
been up against old Hulls and his gun, and I know what I'm talking
about."

"The cattle have already been counted," said Davy quietly, "and I had my
first view of the Bar-O Friday. The cattle seem in good flesh but the
general property needs a lot of repair. I was very sorry to see Mr.
Barrow leave; I could have used a man of his firm determination...."

"Leave?" demanded Logan. "Is Hulls gone?"

"Left Friday morning early, taking with him his gun, dog, chickens,
household plunder, and worst of all, Maizie. And that woman was the
exact type I needed."

"Where did they go?" questioned the astonished receiver.

"Except for the coop of chickens and the household goods, it looked
like a picnic. However, their guide, mentor, and boss had a faraway
look in his eye--seemed impatient to get going. Who was he? Well, I
don't know the folks hereabouts." Turning to Landy, Davy drawled, "Who
was that fellow that was driving?"

"Hit was Collins, Ugly Collins, en from the way he was bossin' en
pushin' along, he was tryin' to make hit to Denver by nightfall."

"Well, he certainly upset my plans," said