in town."

"I heard Loring was due here to-morrow." The sheriff stated this
casually, yet with intent. "I was talking with Art Kennedy 'bout two
hours ago--"

"Kennedy the land-shark?" queried Shoop.

"The same. He said something about expecting Loring."

Bud Shoop had never aspired to the distinction of being called a
diplomat, but he had an active and an aggressive mind. With the
instinct for seizing the main chance by its time-honored forelock, he
rose swiftly. "By Gravy, Jack! I gone and left them things in the
buckboard!"

"Oh, they'll be all right," said Corliss easily. Then he caught his
foreman's eye and read its meaning. His nod to Shoop was all but
imperceptible.

"I dunno, Jack. I'd hate to lose them notes."

"Notes?" And the sheriff grinned. "Writing a song or starting a bank,
Bud?"

"Song. I was composin' it to Jack, drivin' in." And the genial Bud
grabbed his hat and swept out of the room.

Long before he returned, Sheriff Jim had departed puzzling over the
foreman's sudden exit until he came opposite "The Last Chance" saloon.
There he had an instant glimpse of Bud and the one known as Kennedy
leaning against the bar and conversing with much gusto. Then the
swing-door dropped into place. The sheriff smiled and putting two and
two together found that they made four, as is usually the case. He had
wanted to let Corliss know that Loring was coming to Antelope and to
let him know casually, and glean from the knowledge anything that might
be of value. Sheriff Banks knew a great deal more about the affairs of
the distant ranchers than he was ordinarily given credit for. He had
long wondered why Corliss had not taken up the water-hole homestead.

Corliss was in bed when Shoop swaggered in. The foreman did a few
steps of a jig, flung his hat in the corner, and proceeded to undress.

"Did you see Kennedy?" yawned Corliss.

"Bet your whiskers I did! Got the descriptions in my pocket. You owe
me the price of seven drinks, Jack, to say nothin' of what I took
myself. Caught him at 'The Last Chance' and let on I was the pore
lonely cowboy with a sufferin' thirst. Filled him up with
'Look-out-I'm-Comin'' and landed him at his shack, where he dug up them
ole water-hole descriptions, me helpin' promiscus. He kind o' bucked
when I ast him for them papers. Said he only had one copy that he was
holdin' for another party. And I didn't have to strain my guesser any,
to guess who. I tol