igh-heeled boots and
followed his jailer to the kitchen.

"Water and washpan over there," said Gwinne, and poked fresh wood in
the fire. "Ham and eggs this A. M." He rumbled a subterranean ditty:

_Ham-fat, ham-fat, smoking in the pan--
There's a mighty sight of muscle on a ham-fat man._

Johnny sent an amused glance up and down his warden's inches.

"You must have been raised on it, then."

"Hog and hominy. There's a comb and brush."

"Got a comb." Johnny fumbled comb and toothbrush from his vest, and
completed his toilet. "Haven't you had breakfast yet?"

"Naw. I hated to wake you up, you was hitting it off so regular. And
you're the only prisoner I got now. Court's just over and the sheriff
he's gone to Santa Fe with my only boarders. Lord only knows when
he'll get back," said Mr. Gwinne parenthetically. "Jim is a good
sheriff, a mighty good sheriff--but when he gets away from home he
sees life through a glass darkly. They had him in jail, last time. So
I thought we might as well be sociable."

"Oh! Then you're the party for me to jolly up when I want favors?"

"No," said Gwinne regretfully, "I'm not. The justice is gone, the
sheriff's gone, and the district judge is always gone except when
court sits here. But the prosecuting attorney--he serves for the whole
district, five counties, like the judge, you know--why, by bad luck,
he's right here, a-hoppin' and a-rarin'. So I'm under orders."

"Well, so am I. What are they? What can I do to help?" The ham sizzled
merrily. "Um-m!" said Johnny appreciatively.

"You might set the table. I'll do the cooking to-day. If so be
you get to be a star boarder you'll have to do your share of the
cooking--though I reckon they'll want me to keep you under key if
you're bound over. Come to think, this prosecuting person would likely
kick like a green bay horse if he knew I was lettin' you mill round
foot-loose. However, he don't know. How many eggs? Hard or soft?"

"Oh, about four--medium. We can always cook more if we have to. And
four pods of _chili_. But why has the prosecutor got it in for me? He
don't want to cinch me unless I'm guilty, does he?"

"It isn't that, exactly. You see, it has got out that you ride for the
Bar Cross. And the Bar Cross boys got Wade's goat, some way, down in
Cruces. I don't know what they did, but he's sure on the peck, and
here's where he stands to break even. Pour the coffee. Tin cow yonder
on the shelf."

"Oh, well--he may