ot meet the sheriff, not only because
of the displeasure of the peace officer, but also because good cowboys
were hard to obtain, and he knew what such a meeting might easily develop
into.

The foreman knew that Ford's Station bore him and his ranch no love and
that if the sheriff should meet with armed resistance and, possibly,
mishap at the hands of any members of the Cross Bar-8, that trouble would
be the tune for him and his men to dance to. Angrily striding to and
fro in front of the bunk house he gave a profane and pointed lecture
to several of his men who stood near, abashed at their foreman's anger. He
suddenly stopped and looked toward the rocky stretch of land and hurled
epithets at what he feared might be taking place in its defiles and among
its rocks and bowlders.

"Fools!" he shouted, shaking his fist at the Backbone. "Fools, to hunt
a man like that on his own ground, and in the way you'll do it! You can't
keep together for long, and as sure as you separate, some of you will be
missing to-night!"

Had he been able, he would have seen six cowboys, who were keeping close
together as they worked their way southward, exploring every arroyo and
examining every thicket and bowlder. Their Colts were in their hands and
their nerves were tensed to the snapping point.

They finally came to the stage road and, after a brief consultation,
plunged into it and scrambled up the opposite bank, where they left one of
their number on guard while they continued on their search. The guard
found concealment behind a huge bowlder which stood on the edge of the
canyon above the entrance. He lighted a cigarette, and the thin wisps of
pale blue smoke slowly made their way above him, twisting and turning,
halting for an instant, and then speeding upward as straight as a rod.
It was strong tobacco and very aromatic, and when the wind caught it up in
filmy clouds and carried it away it could be detected for many feet.

Five minutes had passed since the searchers had become lost to sight
to the south when something moved on the other side of the canyon and
then became instantly quiet as the smoke streamed up. The guard was
cleverly hidden from sight, but he felt that he must smoke, for time
passed slowly for him. Again something moved, this time behind a thin
clump of mesquite. Gradually it took on the outlines of a man, and he was
intently watching the tell-tale vapor, the odor of which had warned him
in time.

Retreating, he