em,
and so they hitched up and started over early in the morning to find me.
On the way they were waylaid by an armed squad and chased for several
miles. I heard the shooting, and by riding hard across the Black Hogback
intercepted them and scared the outlaws off, but the Kauffmans were in
bad shape. One of the horses had been killed and Kauffman himself was
lying on the ground. He'd been thrown from the wagon and was badly
bruised. The girl was unhurt, but naturally she wanted to get out of the
country at once. She wasn't scared; she was plain disgusted. She wanted
me to take them to the train, and I did. Any decent citizen would have
done the same. I didn't know you wanted them again, and if I had I
wouldn't have tried to hold them at the time, for I was pretty well
wrought up myself."

Carmody was less belligerent as he said: "What about arresting these
young people? How did that happen?"

"Well, on the way back from the station I got to thinking about those
raiders, and it struck me that it would be easy for them to ride down to
the Kauffman cabin and do some damage, and that I'd better go over and
see that everything was safe. It was late when I got home, but I saddled
up and drove across. Good thing I did, for I found the house all lit up,
and Henry Kitsong, young Busby, and old Pete Cuneo's girl were in full
possession of the place and having a gay time. I arrested the boys for
breaking into the house on the theory that they were both in that raid.
Furthermore, I'm sure they know something about Watson's death. That's
what Abe and Eli were fighting me about to-night--they're afraid Henry
was mixed up in it. He and Watson didn't get on well."

The vigor and candor of the ranger's defense profoundly affected
Carmody. "You may be right," he said, thoughtfully. "Anyhow, I'll bring
them all before the jury to-morrow. Of course, I can't enter into that
raid or the housebreaking--that's out of my jurisdiction--but if you
think this Cuneo girl knows something--"

"I am certain she does. She made those tracks in the flour."

The coroner turned sharply. "What makes you think so?"

Hanscom then told him of the comparison he had made of her shoes with
the drawings in his note-book, and the coroner listened intently.

"That's mighty important," he said, at last. "You did right in bringing
her down. I'll defend your action."

Hanscom persisted: "You must make it clear to that jury that Helen
McLaren never entered Wats