ome extry shells fo' my rifle."

"I got to go git me my hawss," demurred Mormon who had followed him in.
"Becos' I'm goin' on this trail."

"You can come erlong with Sam when the Brandon outfit shows. Or, if they
don't show, you can bring erlong our own boys soon's they come in. But
I'm hittin' this alone."

As he spoke he rummaged in a drawer and brought out the first-aid kit he
always kept handy.

"You ain't takin' Sam?" asked Mormon, returning with the cartridge belt,
Sandy's rifle and a box of shells. "I know you're goin' to ride hard an'
fast, Sandy, but you got to go slow after you git tryin' to cut sign.
Plimsoll's likely taken her over to the Waterline range country. They
got a place over there somewhere they call the Hideout. It's where they
hide their hawsses when they want 'em out of sight an' I reckon it's
hard to find. I c'ud keep within' sight of you till you start cuttin'
sign, Sandy, an' then catch up."

"Sam ain't comin'," said Sandy, filling his rifle magazine and breech,
stowing away extra clips. "I'm goin' in alone. Mo'n one 'ud be likely to
spoil sign, Mormon, mo'n one is likely to advertise we're comin'.
They're liable to leave a lookout. Know we'll miss Molly some time.
Figgered young Keith might git back some time. Plimsoll's clearin' out
of the country an' I'm trailin' him clean through hell if I have to. Ef
he's harmed Molly I'll stake him out with a green hide wrapped round him
an' his eyelids sliced off. I'll sit in the shade an' watch him frizzle
an' yell when the hide shrinks in the sun. This is my private play,
Mormon. You an' Sam can back it up, but I'm handlin' the cards. I'll
leave sign plain fo' you to foller from Willer Crick. They must have
crossed at the ford below the big bend."

He left the room and they saw him covering the ground in a wolf trot to
where Sam, astride his own favorite mount, held Pronto ready saddled.
They saw Sam's protest, Sandy's vigorous overruling of it, and then
Sandy was up-saddle and away at a brisk lope with Sam gazing after him
disconsolately. Keith's car was turning for the trip to Hereford,
spurning the dust of the Three Star Ranch forever--and not lamented.

"Ain't it jest plumb hell--beggin' yore pardon, marm--but that's what it
is--plain hell!" cried Mormon. Tears of mortification were in his eyes,
his voice was high-pitched and his chagrin was so much like that of an
overgrown child that Kate Nicholson felt constrained to laugh despite
the