rested him. The nature of the wagon. Then, finally, the contents
of the wagon covered with a light canvas protection against the dust.

"Where you from?" he demanded peremptorily.

"Just got through from Myrtle," replied the man, quite undisturbed by
the other's manner.

"Fourteen miles," said McBain sharply. "Guess your plugs sweated
some. What's your name, and who do you work for?"

"Guess I'm Pete Clancy, an' I'm Kate Seton's 'hired' man. Been across
to Myrtle for fixin's for her."

"Fixings?"

The sergeant's eyes at last compelled the other's. There was something
like insolence in the way Pete Clancy returned his stare. There was
also humor.

"Sure," he returned easily. "Guess you'll find 'em in the wagon ef you
raise that cover. There's one of them fakes fer sewin' with. There's a
deal o' fancy canned truck, an' say, the leddy's death on notions. Get
a peek at the colors o' them silk duds. On'y keep dirty hands off'n
'em, or she'll cuss me to hell for a fust-class hog."

McBain signed to the trooper at the rear of the wagon and the man
stripped the cover off. The first thing the officer beheld was a
sewing machine in its shining walnut case. Beside this was an open
packing case filled with canned fruits and meats, and a large supply
of groceries. In another box, packed under layers of paper, were
materials for dressmaking, and a roll of white lawn for other articles
of a woman's apparel.

With obvious disgust he signed again to the trooper to replace the
cover. Then Clancy broke in.

"Say," he cried ironically, "ain't they dandy? I tell you, sergeant,
when it comes to fancy things, women ha' got us skinned to death.
Fancy us wearin' skirts an' things made o' them flimsies! We'd fall
right through 'em an' break our dirty necks. An' the colors, too.
Guess they'd shame a dago wench, an' set a three-year old stud bull
shakin' his sides with a puffic tempest of indignation. But when it
comes to canned truck, well, say, prairie hash ain't nothin' to it,
an' if I hadn't been raised in a Bible class, an' had the feel o' the
cold water o' righteousness in my bones, I'd never ha' hauled them all
this way without gettin' a peek into them cans. I----"

"Cut it out, man," cried the officer sharply. "I need a straight word
with you. Get me? Straight. Your bluff'll do for other folks. You
haven't been to Myrtle. You come from White Point, where you helped
hold up a freight. You ran a big cargo of liquor in this wago