it anywhere at
record-breaking speed. It carried an extra water container that could be
mounted on the running board for desert work, an extra gasoline and oil
supply, there were always extra tires strapped on, extra spark plugs
handy and his batteries were always well charged.

"I aim to make her efficient," said Jordan, "bein' she represents my
office. That's me. If I needed me an airyplane, I'd get me one to hunt
the outlaws out of cover, an' I'd run it myself, an' run it right.
That's me, Bill Jordan!"

Boaster though he was, there was little doubt as to Jordan's efficiency
or his courage. He brought in the criminals he went out to get, some
alive, some dead; prosecuted the first with zeal and collected the
rewards with alacrity. The trouble was that he did _not_ always go out
after certain individuals, who were outside the law, as interpreted by
the people, but inside it, as protected by the political ring to which
Jordan, with other prominent officials, belonged.

Jordan had taken up his brother-in-law's grievance with the greater zest
since he had a half-interest in Plimsoll's Good Luck Pool Parlors, a
share that had cost him good money. On top of that had come Sandy's
flouting of him on the bridge in front of the sheriff's own followers.
He had to save his face, politically as well as personally.

To secure papers bringing Molly Casey within the jurisdiction of the
court was not a difficult matter, but it was not so easy to get them at
an early hour, since court was not in session and the judge none too
eager to arise of a morning. But Jordan knew nothing of the visit of
Miranda Bailey to the Three Star and he pressed matters with no special
expedition, though he characteristically wasted no time.

Armed with the necessary warrant, backed by an assurance that, unless
some extraordinary howl went up, the girl would be given into the
custody of Jim Plimsoll as guardian, by virtue of his claim to
partnership with her father, the sheriff, Plimsoll and two others, all
three deputized for the occasion, started the car from Hereford at a
quarter of twelve, after an early lunch. They passed the butte where Jim
lay prone atop without noticing the flashes he shot into the sky. At a
few minutes after twelve they reached Three Star where Buck, seated on
the porch, his saddle astride a sawhorse, stitched away at a cinch.

Buck played his part well, allowing Jordan to ferret out information to
his own satisfaction. It