ad some great luck
lately!" he exulted. "I'm ready to go after them whenever you say the
word, to-night if you say so. And I'll get the right number and kind
or know the reason why. And I'll take a hand in driving the last herd to
him myself. Good Lord, what luck!"

Blake talked a while longer about the trip, giving necessary instructions
about prices and where he would be likely to find the herd, and then
rode off in the direction of Ford's Station for a consultation with his
friend, the sheriff.

"Hullo, Tom!" came from the stage office as he rode past. He quickly
turned his head and then stopped, smiling broadly.

"Why, hullo, Bill," he replied. "Glad to see you. How are things? Had any
trouble lately?"

"Nope, times are real dull since that day in the defile," Bill answered
with a grin. "I saw Tex once at Sagetown, but he ain't talking none
these days, he's too busy thinking. You see, I've got a purty strong
combination backing me and nobody feels like starting it a-going, because
there ain't no telling just where it'll stop. The Orphant and the sheriff
make a blamed good team, all right."

"None better at any game, Bill," replied Blake. "And you used the right
word, too. They're going to pull together from now on, in fact, the Star
C will be in harness with them."

"That's the way to talk!" cried Bill enthusiastically. "I always said
that Orphant was a white man, even before I ever saw him," he said,
forgetting much that he might be in hearty accord. "He can call on me
any time he needs me, you bet. He cheated the devil twice with me, and I
ain't a-going to forget it. But say, what do you think of the sheriff's
sister, Helen? Ain't she a winner, hey? Finest girl these parts have
ever seen, all right, and her friend ain't second by no length, neither."

"Why, Bill," exclaimed Blake, a twinkle coming to his eyes, "you are not
allowing yourself to get captured, are you? That's a risky game, like
starting up The Orphan and the sheriff, for there's no telling just where
it will stop."

"No, I ain't letting myself get captured," sighed Bill. "I ain't no fool.
Bill Howland knows a thing or two, which he learned not more than a
thousand years ago. I've got it all sized up. And since then I've seen
a certain bang-up puncher hitting the trail for the sheriff's house some
regular twice a week. Nope, I'm a batchler now and forever, long may
I wave."

"Say," he continued, suddenly remembering something. "What's the s