out at once for the border and the thieves made themselves
scarce. It is claimed that the rustlers were members of the notorious
Soapy Stone outfit. Two of the four were identified, it is alleged,
as William Cranston, generally known as "Bad Bill," and a young
vaquero called "Curly" Flandrau.

At the time of going to press posses are out after both the outlaws
and the stolen horses. Chances of overtaking both are considered
excellent. All likely points and outlying ranches have been notified
by telephone whenever possible.

In case the guilty parties are apprehended the _Sentinel_ hopes an
example will be made of them that will deter others of like stamp
from a practice that has of late been far too common. Lawlessness
seems to come in cycles. Just now the southern tier of counties
appears to be suffering from such a sporadic attack. Let all good men
combine to stamp it out. The time has passed when Arizona must stand
as a synonym for anarchy.

She looked up at the young man breathlessly, her pretty lips parted, her
dilated eyes taking him in solemnly. A question trembled on her lips.

"Say it," advised Flandrau.

The courage to ask what she was thinking came back in a wave. "Then I
will. Are you a rustler?"

"That's what the paper says, don't it?"

"Are you this man mentioned here? What's his name--'Curly' Flandrau?"

"Yes."

"And you're a rustler?"

"What do you think? Am I more like a rustler than a deputy sheriff? Stands
to reason I can't be both."

Her eyes did not leave him. She brushed aside his foolery impatiently.
"You don't even deny it."

"I haven't yet. I expect I will later."

"Why do men do such things?" she went on, letting the hands that held the
paper drop into her lap helplessly. "You don't look bad. Anyone would
think----"

Her sentence tailed out and died away. She was still looking at Curly, but
he could see that her mind had flown to someone else. He would have bet a
month's pay that she was thinking of another lad who was wild but did not
look bad.

Flandrau rose and walked round the table to her. "Much obliged, Miss
Laura. I'll shake hands on that with you. You've guessed it. Course, me
being so 'notorious' I hate to admit it, but I ain't bad any more than he
is."

She gave him a quick shy look. He had made a center shot she was not
expecting. But, womanlike, she did not admit it.

"You mean this 'Bad Bill'?"

"You know who I mean all right.