nts. Not
counting the scattered members in town, there were at least two hundred
of the malcontents loafing in camp. When the sheriff's posse appeared it
was met by a deputation. But there was no parley.

"We'll give you till sundown to clear out," said the sheriff and,
turning, he and his men rode back to the court-house.

That evening sentinels were posted at the street corners within hail of
each other. In a vacant lot back of the court-house the horses of the
posse were corralled under guard. The town was quiet. Occasionally a
figure crossed the street; some shawl-hooded striker's wife or some
workman heedless of the sheriff's warning.

Lorry happened to be posted on a corner of the court-house square.
Across the street another sentinel paced back and forth, occasionally
pausing to talk with Lorry.

This sentinel was halfway up the block when a figure appeared from the
shadow between two buildings. The sentinel challenged.

"A friend," said the figure. "I was lookin' for young Adams."

"What do you want with him?"

"It's private. Know where I can find him?"

"He's across the street there. Who are you, anyway?"

"That's my business. He knows me."

"This guy wants to talk to you," called the sentinel.

Lorry stepped across the street. He stopped suddenly as he discovered
the man to be Waco, the tramp.

"Is it all right?" asked the sentinel, addressing Lorry.

"I guess so. What do you want?"

"It's about Jim Waring," said Waco. "I seen you when the sheriff rode up
to our camp. I seen by the papers that Jim Waring was your father. I
wanted to tell you that it was High-Chin Bob what killed Pat. I was in
the buckboard with Pat when he done it. The horses went crazy at the
shootin' and ditched me. When I come to I was in Grant."

"Why didn't you stay and tell what you knew? Nobody would 'a' hurt you."

"I was takin' no chance of the third, and twenty years."

"What you doin' in this town?"

"Cookin' for the camp. But I can't hold that job long. My whole left
side is goin' flooey. The boss give me hallelujah to-day for bein' slow.
I'm sick of the job."

"Well, you ought to be. Suppose you come over to the sheriff and tell
him what you know about the killin' of Pat."

"Nope; I was scared you would say that. I'm tellin' _you_ because you
done me a good turn onct. I guess that lets me out."

"Not if I make you sit in."

"You can make me sit in all right. But you can't make me talk. Show me
a cop and