head at full speed.
"Come on!" he cried. "Come on, you snails!" and a race was on.

. . . . .

The citizens of Ford's Station saw a low-hanging cloud of dust which
rolled rapidly up from the west and soon a hard-riding crowd of cowboys,
in gala attire, galloped down the main street of the town. They slowed
to a canter and rode abreast in a single line, the arms of each man over
the shoulders of his nearest companions, and all sang at the top of
their lungs. On the right end rode Blake, and on the left was The
Orphan. Bill Howland ran out into the street and spotted his new friend
immediately and swung his hat and cheered for the man who had helped
him out of two bad holes. The Orphan broke from the line and shook
hands with the driver, his face wreathed by a grin.

"You old son-of-a-gun!" cried Bill, delighted at the familiarity from so
noted a person as the former outlaw. "How are you, hey?"

The line cried warm greeting as it swung around to shake his hand, and
the driver's chest took on several inches of girth.

"Hullo, Bill!" cried Bud with a laugh. "Seen your old friend Tex lately?"

"Yes, I did," replied Bill. "I saw him out on Thirty-Mile Stretch, but he
didn't do nothing but swear. He didn't want no more run-ins with me, all
right, and, besides, my rifle was across my knees. He said as how he was
going to come back some day and start things moving about this old town,
and I told him to begin with the Star C when he did."

He looked across the street and waved his hand at a group of his friends
who were looking on. "Come on over, fellows," he cried, and when they had
done so he turned and introduced The Orphan to them.

"This ugly cuss here is Charley Winter; this slab-sided curiosity is Tommy
Larkin, and here is his brother Al; Chet Dare, Duke Irwin, Frank Hicks,
Hoke Jones, Gus Shaw and Roy Purvis. All good fellows, every one of them,
and all friends of the sheriff. Here comes Jed Carr, the only man in the
whole town who ain't afraid of me since I licked them punchers in the
defile. Hullo, Jed! Shake hands with the man who played h--l with the
Cross Bar-8 and the Apaches."

"Glad to meet you, Orphan," remarked Jed as he shook hands. "Punching
for the Star C, eh? Good crowd, most of them, as they run, though Humble
ain't very much."

"He ain't, ain't he?" grinned that puncher. "You're some sore about that
day when I cleaned up all your cush at poker, ain't you? Ai