you enthuse about me." Then he noticed the additions to his equipment
and frowned: "You better take those things, I can't. The spirit is enough."

"Oh, you borrow them 'til you see me again," replied Bill. "You may need
'em," he added as he wheeled and walked to the coach. He climbed to his
seat and wrapped the lines about his hands, cracking the whip as soon as
he could, and the coach lurched on its way to Ford's Station, the driver
grunting about fool old maids who didn't know enough to be glad they were
alive.

The Orphan hesitated about the gifts and then decided to take them for
the time. He mounted and rode past the coach door, keeping near to the
flank of the last horse, where he listened to Bill's endless talk.

"How is it that you've got a Cross Bar-8 cayuse?" Bill asked at length,
too idiotically happy to realize the significance of his question.

The Orphan's hand leaped suddenly and then stopped and dropped to the
pommel, and he looked up at the driver.

"Oh, one of their punchers and I sort of swapped," he laughingly replied,
thinking of the man under the debris. "Say, if I don't get as far as
the canyon with you, just climb up above on the left hand side near the
entrance and release a fool puncher that is covered up under a pile of
rubbish, will you? I came near forgetting him, and I don't want him to die
in that way."

As he spoke he saw a group of horsemen swing over a rise and he knew them
instinctively.

"There's the gang now--tell them, I'm off for a ride," he said, dropping
back to the coach door, where he raised his hand to his head and bowed.

CHAPTER VII

THE OUTFIT HUNTS FOR STRAYS

As the group of punchers and the stage neared each other Bill saw two
horsemen ride out into view beside a chaparral half a mile to the
northwest, and he recognized Shields and Charley, who were loping forward
as if to overtake the cowboys, their approach noiseless because of
the deep sand. As the cowboys came nearer Bill recognized them as being
the five worst men of the Cross Bar-8 outfit, and his loyalty to his
new friend was no stronger than his dislike for the newcomers. They
swept up at a canter and stopped abruptly near the front wheel.

"Who was _that?"_ asked Larry Thompson impatiently, with his gloved hand
indicating the direction taken by The Orphan.

"Friend of mine," replied Bill, who was diplomatically pleasant. "Say," he
began, enthusing for effect, "you should have turned up soone