fingers until she jerked up her head and snorted out a blast of held-in
air.

"Guess that would have shot out any paper in her nostrils," he remarked.

"They say this Jo's a hoss trainer," suggested Pete. "Maybe the mare's
a trick hoss. Look in her mouth Drummond."

Drummond did this, but found it empty. He studied a minute, his eyes
closed thoughtfully, then threw off the saddle and examined the
sheepskin lining, _tapaderos_, jockeys, skirts.

Now for fifteen minutes he walked about over the ground. It was hard
and firm here--almost as smooth as the surface of a dry lake, with no
loose sand in which the paper might be concealed and little desert
growth.

Returning he lifted the mare's feet one by one, then faced Hiram again.

"Open your mouth," he commanded; and Hiram obeyed, displaying an empty
cavity.

"Well, ole hoss, I guess the game's up for you folks," Drummond said
chuckling. "I never thought we'd be lucky enough to get rid of the
original. So now we'll leave you to put on your clothes and go your
way. You may see Jerkline Jo and tell her your little story; and you
two can discuss what's best to do. When you've decided, come to me and
we'll dicker with you."

"How 'bout takin' 'im into the mountains?" asked Pete in a low voice.

"No, that won't be necessary now. We need him to put the case before
Jerkline Jo. I'm against violence, anyway, in the main. And I'm not a
hog, like a certain person I might mention if it weren't for Hooker's
overhearing it. We'll let him go, and dicker later. Half suits me."

Drummond climbed into the saddle, and the two wheeled their horses and
rode away.

Hiram began to dress.

"Look, Hooker!" called Drummond from a distance. "I'll drop your gun
right here."

Hiram nodded and continued putting on his clothes, then resaddled the
mare.

Then when the departing riders were mere specks in the distance he
stepped to Babe's head, reached his fingers up one of her nostrils, and
pulled out the wadded sheepskin document.

"A heap o' fellas call themselves hossmen that don't know about that
little pocket in a hoss' nose," came his whimsical Mendocino drawl.
"She could snort all day, but the pocket ain't connected with her
nostrils." He patted Babe's glossy neck. "Li'l' black mare," he
crooned into her furry ear, "le's go find Jo!"

CHAPTER XXXIV

WHILE SPRING APPROACHED

At a late hour in the evening of the day that Hiram Hooker set out to
ride wit