rero low-drawn. He moved out of the shadow cautiously, with many
furtive glances about him. Then he swiftly crossed the street, hurried
along the sidewalk to Pat, and reached the horse's head and bridle.
Untying the reins from the post, he leaped into the saddle. Then he
swung Pat around, put light spurs to him, and urged him rapidly across
the avenue. Beyond the avenue toward the north lay Stygian darkness. In
these black depths he disappeared.

At this moment the clerk in the hotel was aroused by the unusual
spectacle of one of his guests--young Wainwright--leaping down the
stairs. He looked up with a surprised question. But Stephen ran past
him, across the office, without heed. He gained the door, rushed down
the steps, and shouted. The boys ceased playing, a passer-by came to a
stop, out of the saloon opposite stepped Miguel. Miguel hastened across,
drawing his hand over his mouth as he ran. Stephen opened upon him
breathlessly.

"He's gone!" he burst out. "I saw it from my window. A young man in blue
shirt and overalls. The horse has been stolen!"

Miguel threw up both hands in despair. "_Valgame Dios!_" he cried.
"I am lose my job!" He looked about him blankly.

Sick at heart, not knowing what to do, Stephen himself bolted back into
the hotel. He entered the telephone booth and rang up the Judge's
office. It was late, but he took a chance. The Judge answered the call.
His voice was weary with the strain of a long day.

"Who in thunder wants me at this hour?" he drawled, not unpleasantly.
"Can't you let a man--"

Stephen interrupted with an apology. Then he told the Judge of the loss.
The Judge's voice changed instantly.

"Fine business!" he snapped. "But I reckon I know who to look for.
There's only one man--one gang--in the Territory that would do that in
that way. It's a job for the range police." Then his voice softened.
"Don't worry, Stephen!" he added. "You just sit tight. I'll take it up
with the authorities."

Stephen left the booth and entered the writing-room. Here he added a sad
postscript to his note to Helen. Then he went outside, despatched Miguel
with the letter, returned to his room and sat down, disconsolate and
angry.

To have Pat sent to him with this noble generosity, and then to lose
him! Surely fate was more than unkind. The horse, given into his
keeping, had been wrested from him at once. Yes, he was all that Helen
had intimated that he was--a man incapable of trust, a man such as