inding the girl's saddle on the sorrel.
He made no comment.

"Now, Busby, we'll mount you first," he said, and slipped the bridle
from the horse. "You see, to make sure of you I am going to lead your
pony." He then untied the youth's hands. "Climb on!" he commanded.

Busby silently mounted to his saddle, the girl took the sorrel, and at
command Kitsong started down the trail.

"You go next," said Hanscom to the girl, "now you, Busby," he added, and
with the rope across the horse's rump--the trick of a trained
trailer--he started down the trail.

Sinister as this small procession really was, it would have appeared
quite innocent to a casual observer as it went winding down the hill. No
one at a little distance would have been able to tell that in the silent
determination of the horseman in the rear lay the only law, the only
bond which kept these four riders in line. Neither Busby nor Kitsong nor
the girl doubted for an instant that if any of them made a deflection, a
rush for freedom, they would be shot. They knew that as a Federal
officer he had certain authority. Just how much authority they could not
determine, but they were aware that the shooting had begun in the
forest, which was his domain.

As they sighted Watson's cabin Hanscom was curious to know whether
nearing the scene of the crime would have any perceptible effect on
Busby. "Will he betray nervousness?" he asked himself.

Quite the contrary. As he came opposite the house, Busby turned in his
saddle and asked, "When was Watson killed?"

"Nobody knows exactly. Some time Monday night," answered the ranger.

A few miles down the road they met a rancher coming up the valley with a
timber-wagon, and to him the ranger explained briefly the nature of his
expedition, and said:

"Now, Tom, I reckon you'll have to turn around and help me take these
youngsters to the sheriff. I would rather have them in your wagon than
on horseback."

The rancher consented with almost instant readiness.

The prisoners were transferred to the wagon, and in this way the
remainder of the trip was covered.

V

The county jail was a square, brick structure standing in the midst of a
grove of small cottonwood-trees (planted in painful rows), and the
sheriff's office and his wife's parlor, situated on opposite sides of
the hall, occupied the front part of the first story, while the rear and
the basement served as kitchen and dungeon keep. Generally the lockup
was empty and