we'll have some fun 'fore the day's out. Sandy can
cert'nly scheme out the scenarios."

"The what?"

"The scenarios," repeated Mormon loftily. "I got that out of a moving
pitcher magazine down to Hereford. It's the word fo' the plot of the
story. Sabe?"

"Huh! I reckon them movin' pitcher shooters 'ud have to move some to git
all that's movin' this trip. Got yore gun oiled up, Mormon? Here's
Molly."

Molly came out on the porch carrying a small grip packed with her few
belongings, Grit beside her. Sandy nodded to her, busy giving
instructions to two riders. Mormon and Sam waved and she went over to
them, swinging up to the rail beside them.

"Jim," said Sandy, "I want you should ride out to'ards Hereford an' hide
out atop of Bald Butte. You don't need to stay there any later than
noon. Take a flash-glass with you. If any of the sheriff's crowd comes
erlong, any one who looks like he might be servin' papers, sabe, you
flash in a message. Make it a five-flash fo' anything suspicious, a
three-flash fo' any one shackin' this way, even if you figger they're
plumb harmless."

"Seguro, Miguel." With the slang phrase, Jim, an upstanding young chap,
despite his horse-bowed legs, walked over to the bunk-house for
flash-mirror and gun, came back to his already caught-up and saddled
horse, turned stirrup and set foot in it, caught hold of mane and horn,
beat the quick swirl of his pony sidewise with the fling of leg over
cantle and went streaming off for the Bald Butte in a cloud of dust.
Sandy called to Buck Perches, oldest of his riders, whose exposed skin
matched the leather of his saddle.

"Buck, ef any visitors arrives while we're gone, you entertain 'em same
as I w'ud. I w'udn't be surprised but what Jim Plimsoll 'ud be moseyin'
erlong, with Sheriff Jordan an' mebbe one or two mo'. Mo' the merrier.
They'll be lookin' fo' me an' Miss Molly with some readin' matter that's
got a seal to the bottom of it. We won't be to home. You'll be the only
one to home 'cept Pedro an' Joe. They've got their instructions to know
nothin'. They ain't supposed to know nothin'. You--you've stayed to the
ranch to do some fixin' of yore saddle. Started, but come back when yore
cinch bu'sted. Sabe? All the rest of the riders is on the range 'tendin'
business. When they left, an' when you left with 'em, me an' Mormon an'
Sam, with Miss Molly, was all here. So you supposed. Don't let 'em think
yo're planted to feed 'em info'mation."

Buck n