," said Mormon equably.
"But I don't sabe that talk at all. Molly Casey ain't here, to begin
with. Nor she ain't been here. An' I don't sabe no obstruction of the
law by settin' up a fence in a mesa canyon to round up broom-tails."

One of the deputies snickered.

"Broom-tails?" cried Jordan. "That's too thin. There's no mustangs
hangin' round a mesa like this, 'thout feed or water." He flushed
angrily. He was short-tempered and he was certain the fence was a ruse
to gain time, with Mormon left behind to parley. It all seemed to point
to Sandy Bourke making for the railroad.

"You never kin tell about wild hawsses, or even branded ones," said
Mormon pleasantly. "Ask Plimsoll. He picks 'em up in all sorts of
places."

Plimsoll cursed. Mormon still held his gun conspicuously, and he
restrained his own impulse to draw. Jordan wheeled on the gambler.

"You keep out o' this, Jim Plimsoll," he said. "I'm runnin' this end of
it. He's talkin' against time. You come down an' help remove this
fence," he shouted up at the smiling Mormon, "or I'll start something.
It ain't on yore property and it's hindering the carrying out of my
warrant."

"It ain't on a public highway neither," retorted Mormon. "But I'll come
down. Don't you go to clippin' those wires an' destroyin' what _is_ my
property." He slid down the rock and commenced to unbend the metal
straps that held the wire in place. Jordan and one of his men followed
suit with pliers from the motor kit. The job took several minutes.

"You'll come along with us," said Jordan. "You lied about the girl
comin' this way. I've a notion to take you in for that. But I reckon you
can go back in the buckboard with yore partners."

"Reckon I'll travel in the buckboard, when you catch up with it," said
Mormon. "But I'll come erlong with you fo' a spell--of my own free will.
I don't see no harm in takin' the gel visitin' anyway," he concluded as
he took an extra seat in the tonneau.

Jordan made no answer but started the engine. The gorge began to narrow
perceptibly, its floor slanted upward and the machine labored with a
mixture that constantly needed more air. The way zigzagged for half a
mile and then they came to a second fence. No buckboard was in sight.
Beyond the wire the pitch of the ravine showed steeper yet, as it
mounted to a sharp turn. Leaning against a post stood Soda-Water Sam,
smoking a cigarette, his gun holster hitched forward, the butt of the
weapon close to one ha