ing proves they were doing
it on purpose to keep Shorty from hearing anything else."

The sheriff swore. "I heard them fellers, too," he said. "They woke
me up with their bellerin' and I had a job gettin' to sleep again. I
guess Racey's right."

"I guess he is," assented the Judge. "Now we know how they managed
that part of it, where did they get the key to open the cuffs? Kansas
says you ain't lost any keys, Jake."

"We got 'em all, every one. I don't believe they used a key. Them
handcuff locks was picked."

"Picked?"

"Picked. After Kansas went for you I found these here on the
floor." Here he produced from a pocket a bent and twisted piece of
baling-wire, and a steel half-moon horse-collar needle.

"That's a Number Six needle," observed the sheriff, who invariably
scented clues in the most unpromising objects. "And the point's broke
off."

"Number Six is a common size," said Racey. "Most stores carry 'em. And
if the point didn't get broke off wigglin' round inside the lock it
would be a wonder."

"Still it would take a mighty good man to open them locks with only
bale-wire and a harness-needle," said the sheriff, hurriedly. "A
expert, you bet."

"It don't matter whether he was a expert or not," said Dolan. "He
opened them, and the prisoner has skedaddled. That's the main thing.
Jake, how about trailin' him?"

"How? They's tracks, a few of 'em, leadin' from the pile of dirt
straight to the hard ground in front of the stage corrals. Beyond
there they ain't any tracks. Trail 'em! How you gonna trail 'em?"

"I dunno," replied Dolan, promptly passing the buck. "Yo're the
sheriff. She's yore job. You gotta do _something_. C'mon out."

The five men, Dolan and the sheriff arguing steadily, went out into
the street. Racey walked thoughtfully in the rear. He was revolving in
his mind what the sheriff had said about an expert. Of course it had
been an expert. And experts in lock-picking in the cattle country are
few and far between.

Racey decided that it would be a good idea for him to have a little
talk on lock-picking with Peaches Austin. Not that he suspected the
excellent Peaches of having picked those locks. But Peaches knew who
had. Oh, most certainly Peaches knew who had.

CHAPTER XXIII

TAKING FENCES

"'Lo, Peaches."

Peaches Austin, standing at the Starlight bar, was raising a glass to
his lips. But at the greeting he set down the liquor untasted, turned
his head, and looked into the