Bud suddenly turned in his saddle and pointed to a jackrabbit which bounded away across the plain like an animated shadow.

“Now, if Humble’s bloodhound was only here,” he said, “we would rope that jack and make the cur fight it. It would be a fine fight, all right,” he laughed.

“You go to the devil,” grunted Humble, and he started ahead at full speed. “Come on!” he cried. “Come on, you snails!” and a race was on.

·····

The citizens of Ford’s Station saw a low-hanging cloud of dust which rolled rapidly up from the west and soon a hard-riding crowd of cowboys, in gala attire, galloped down the main street of the town. They slowed to a canter and rode abreast in a single line, the arms of each man over the shoulders of his nearest companions, and all sang at the top of their lungs. On the right end rode Blake, and on the left was The Orphan. Bill Howland ran out into the street and spotted his new friend immediately and swung his hat and cheered for the man who had helped him out of two bad holes. The Orphan broke from the line and shook hands with the driver, his face wreathed by a grin.

“You old son-of-a-gun!” cried Bill, delighted at the familiarity from so noted a person as the former outlaw. “How are you, hey?”

The line cried warm greeting as it swung around to shake his hand, and the driver’s chest took on several inches of girth.

“Hullo, Bill!” cried Bud with a laugh. “Seen your old friend Tex lately?”

“Yes, I did,” replied Bill. “I saw him out on Thirty-Mile Stretch, but he didn’t do nothing but swear. He didn’t want no more run-ins with me, all right, and, besides, my rifle was across my knees. He said as how he was going to come back some day and start things moving about this old town, and I told him to begin with the Star C when he did.”

He looked across the street and waved his hand at a group of his friends who were looking on. “Come on over, fellows,” he cried, and when they had done so he turned and introduced The Orphan to them.

“This ugly cuss here is Charley Winter; this slab-sided curiosity is Tommy Larkin, and here is his brother Al; Chet Dare, Duke Irwin, Frank Hicks, Hoke Jones, Gus Shaw and Roy Purvis. All good fellows, every one of them, and all friends of the sheriff. Here comes Jed Carr, the only man in the whole town who ain’t afraid of me since I licked them punchers in the defile. Hullo, Jed! Shake hands with the man who played h–l with the Cross Bar-8 and the Apaches.”

“Glad to meet you, Orphan,” remarked Jed as he shook hands. “Punching for the Star C, eh? Good crowd, most of them, as they run, though Humble ain’t very much.”

“He ain’t, ain’t he?” grinned that puncher. “You’re some sore about that day when I cleaned up all your cush at poker, ain’t you? Ain’t had time to get over it, have you? Want to borrow some?”

“You want to look out for Humble, Jed,” bantered Bud. “He’s taken a lesson at poker from our cook since he played you. Didn’t you, Easy?” he asked Humble.

The roar of laughter which followed Bud’s words forced Humble to stand treat: “Come on over and have something with the only man in the crowd that’s got any money,” he said.

When they had lined up against the bar jokes began to fly thick and fast and The Orphan felt a peculiar elation steal over him as he slowly puffed at his cigar. Suddenly the door flew open and Bill’s glass dropped from his hand.

“Bucknell, by God! And as drunk as a fool!” he exclaimed.

The puncher whom The Orphan had tied up above the defile leaned against the door frame and his gun wavered from point to point unsteadily as he tried to peer into the dim interior of the room, his face leering as he sought, with a courage born of drink, for the man who had made a fool of him.

A bottle crashed against the wall at his side, and as he lurched forward, glancing at the broken glass, a figure leaped to meet him and with agile strength grasped his right wrist, wheeled and got his shoulder under Bucknell’s armpit, took two short steps and straightened up with a jerk. The intruder left the floor and flew headforemost through the air, crashing against the rear wall, where he fell to the floor and lay quiet. The Orphan, having foresworn unnecessary gunplay, and always scorning to shoot a drunken man, had executed a clever, quick flying-mare.

As the sheriff stepped into the room Blake ran forward and lifted Bucknell to his feet, supporting him until he could stand alone. The puncher was greatly sobered by the shock and blinked confusedly about him. The Orphan was smoking nonchalantly at the bar and Bill had just given the sheriff the victim’s gun.

“What’s the matter?” asked Bucknell, rubbing his forehead, which was cut and bruised.

“Nothing’s the matter, yet,” answered Shields shortly. “But there would have been if you hadn’t been too drunk to know what you was doing. I saw you and tried to get here first, but it’s all right now. Take your gun and get out. Here,” he exclaimed, “you promise me to behave yourself and you can go back to Sneed, for he needs you. Otherwise, it’s out of the country after Tex for you. Is it a go?”

“What was that, and who done it?” asked Bucknell, clinging to the bar. “What was it?” he repeated.

“That was me trying to throw you through the wall,” said the sheriff, wishing to give Bucknell no greater cause for animosity against The Orphan, and for the peace of the community; and also because he wished to help The Orphan to refrain from using his gun in the future. “And I’d ’a’ done it, too, only my hand was sweaty. Will you do what I said?” he asked.

Bucknell straightened up and staggered past the sheriff to where The Orphan stood: “You done that, but it’s all right, ain’t it?” he asked. “You ain’t sore, are you?” His eyes had a crafty look, but the dimness of the room concealed it, and The Orphan did not notice the look.

“It’s all right, Bucknell, and I ain’t sore,” he replied. “I won’t be sore if you do what the sheriff wants you to.”

“All right, all right,” replied Bucknell. “Have a drink on me, boys. It’s all right now, ain’t it? Have a drink on me.”

“No more drinking to-day,” quickly said the bartender at a look from Shields. “All the good stuff is used up and the rest ain’t fit for dogs, let alone my friends. Wait ’til next time, when I’ll have some new.”

“That’s too d––d bad,” replied Bucknell, leering at the crowd. “Have a smoke, then. Come on, have a smoke with me.”

“We shore will, Bucknell,” responded Shields quickly.

As the cowboy started for the door the sheriff placed a hand on his shoulder: “You behave yourself, Bucknell,” he said. “So long.”

CHAPTER XVII
THE FEAST

JOYOUS whoops, loud and heartfelt, brought the women to the door of the sheriff’s house in time to see their guests dismount. A perfect babel of words greeted their appearance as the cowboys burst into a running fire of jokes, salutations and comments. Even the ponies seemed to know that something important and unusual was taking place, for they cavorted and bit and squealed to prove that they were in accord with the spirit of their riders and that thirty miles in less than three hours had not subdued them. Bright colors prevailed, for the neck-kerchiefs in most cases were new and yet showed the original folding creases, while new, clean thongs of rawhide and glittering bits of metal flashed back the sunlight. Spurs glittered and the clean looking horses appeared to have had a dip in the Limping Water. Blake had hunted through the carpeted rooms of his ranch-house for decorations, and in the drawer of a table he had found a bunch of ribbons of many kinds and shades. These now fluttered from the pommels of the saddles and in one case a red ribbon was twined about the leg of a vicious pinto, and the pinto was not at all pleased by the decoration.

The sheriff led the way to the house closely followed by Blake, the others coming in the order of their nerve. The Orphan was last, not from lack of courage, but rather because of strategy. He thought that Helen would remain at the door to welcome each arrival and if he was in the van he would be passed on to make way for those behind him. Being the last man he hoped to be able to say more to her than a few words of greeting. As he mounted the steps she was drawn into the room for something and he stepped to one side on the porch, well knowing that she would miss him.

Bud poked his head out the door and started to say something, but The Orphan fiercely whispered for him to be silent and to disappear, which Bud did after grinning exasperatingly.

The man on the porch was growing impatient when he heard the light swish of skirts around the corner of the house. Sauntering carelessly to the corner he looked into the back-yard and saw Helen with a tray in her hands, nearing the back door. She espied him and stopped, flushing suddenly as he leaped lightly to the ground and walked rapidly toward her. Her cheeks became a deeper red when he stopped before her and took the tray, for his eyes were rebellious and would not be subdued, and the first thing she saw was the gold pin which stood out boldly against the dark blue neck-kerchief. She was rarely beautiful in her white dress, and the ribbon which she wore at her throat did not detract in its effect. Later her sister was to wonder if it was a coincidence that the ribbon and his neck-kerchief were so good a match in color.

She welcomed him graciously and he felt a sudden new and strangely exhilarating sensation steal over him as he took the hand she held out, the tray all the while bobbing recklessly in his other hand.

“Why aren’t you in the house paying your respects to your hostess?” she chided half in jest and half in earnest.

“The delay will but add to my fervor when I do,” he replied, “for I will have had a stimulus then. As long as the hostesses are four and insist on not being together, how can I pay my respects all at once?”

“But there is only one hostess,” she laughingly corrected. “I am afraid you are not very good at making excuses. You probably never felt the need to make them before. You see, I, too, am only a guest.”

“We two,” he corrected daringly.

“I am very glad to see you,” she said, leading away from plurals. “You are looking very well and much more contented. And then, this is ever so much nicer than our first meeting, isn’t it? No horrid Apaches.”

“I’ve gotten so that I rather like Apaches,” he replied. “They are so useful at times. But you mustn’t try to tempt me to subordinate that eventful day, not yet. It can’t be done, although I’ve never tried to do it,” he hastily assured her, making a gesture of helplessness. “Sometimes an unexpected incident will change the habits of a lifetime, making the days seem brighter, and yet, somehow, adding a touch of sadness. I have been a stranger to myself since then, restless, absentminded, moody and hungry for I know not what.” He paused and then slowly continued, “I must beg to remain loyal to that day of all days when you bathed an outlaw’s head and showed your love for fair play and kindness.”

“Goodness!” she cried, for one instant meeting his eager eyes. “Why, I thought it was a terrible day! And you really think differently?”

“Very much so,” he assured her as she withdrew her hand from his. “You see, it was such a new and delightful experience to save a stage coach and then find that it was a hospital with a wonderful doctor. I accused that Apache of being stingy with his lead, for he might just as well have given me a few more wounds to have dressed.”

“Yes,” she laughingly retorted, “it was almost as new an experience as starting on a long and supposedly peaceful journey and suddenly finding oneself in the middle of a desert surrounded by dead Indians and doctoring an Indian killer who was at war with one’s brother. And that after a terrible shaking up lasting for over an hour. Truly it is a day to be remembered. Now, don’t you think you should hurry in and greet my sister-in-law?”

“Yes, certainly,” he quickly responded. “But before I lose the opportunity I must ask you if you will care if I ride over and see you occasionally, because it is terribly lonely on that ranch.”

“You know that we shall always be glad to see you whenever you can call,” she replied, smiling up at him. “We are all very deep in your debt and brother and all of us think a great deal of you. Are you satisfied on the Star C, and do you like your work and your companions?”

“Thank you,” he cried happily, “I will ride over and see you once in a while. But as for my work, it is delightful! The Star C is fine and my companions–well, they just simply can’t be beat! they are the finest, whitest set of men that ever gathered under one roof.”

“That’s very nice, I am glad that you find things so congenial,” she replied in sincerity. “James was sure that you would, for Mr. Blake is an old friend of his.”

“I’m very anxious about this pin,” he said, putting his hand on it. “May I keep it for a while longer?” he asked with a note of appeal in his voice.

“Why, yes,” she replied, “if you wish to. But only as long as you do not displease me, and you will not do that, will you? James has such deep confidence in you that I know you will not disappoint him. You will justify him in his own mind and in the minds of his acquaintances and prove that he has not erred in judgment, won’t you?”

“If I am the sum total of your brother’s trouble, he will have a path of roses to wander through all the rest of his life,” he responded earnestly. “And I’m really afraid that you will never again wear this pin as a possession of yours. Of course you can borrow it occasionally,” and he smiled whimsically, “but as far as displeasing you is concerned, it is mine forever. It will really and truly be mine on that condition, won’t it? My very own if I do not forfeit it?”

“If you wish it so,” she replied quickly, her face radiant with smiles. “And you will work hard and you will never shoot a man, no matter what the provocation may be, unless it is absolutely necessary to do it for the saving of your own life or that of a friend or an innocent man. Promise me that!” she commanded imperatively, pleased at being able to dictate to him. “Men like you never break a promise,” she added impulsively.

“I promise never to shoot a man, woman, child or–or anybody,” he laughingly replied, “unless it is necessary to save life. And I’ll work real hard and save my money. And on Sundays, rain or shine, I’ll ride in and report to my new foreman.” Then a bit of his old humor came to him: “For I just about need this pin–knots are so clumsy, you know.”

She glanced at the knot which held the pin and laughed merrily, leading the way into the house.

As they entered Humble was extolling the virtues of his dog, to the broad grins of his companions, who constantly added amendments and made corrections sotto voce.

“Why, here they are!” cried the sheriff in such a tone as to suffuse Helen’s face with blushes. The Orphan coolly shook hands with him.

“Yes, here we are, Sheriff, every one of us,” he replied. “We couldn’t be expected to stay away when Mrs. Shields put herself to so much trouble, and we’re all happy and proud to be so honored. How do you do, Mrs. Shields,” he continued as he took her hand. “It is awful kind of you to go to such trouble for a lot of lonely, hungry fellows like us.”

“Goodness sakes!” she cried, delighted at his words and pleased at the way he had parried her husband’s teasing thrust. “Why, it was no trouble at all–you are all my boys now, you know.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Shields,” he replied slowly. “We will do our very best to prove ourselves worthy of being called your boys.”

The sheriff regarded The Orphan with a look of approbation and turned to his sister Helen.

“He ain’t nobody’s fool, eh, Sis?” he whispered. “I’m wondering how you ever made up your mind to share him with us!”

“Oh, please don’t!” she begged in confusion. “Please don’t tease me now!”

“All right, Sis,” he replied in a whisper, pinching her ear. “I’ll save it all up for some other time, some time when he ain’t around to turn it off, eh? But I don’t blame him a bit for exploring the yard first–you’re the prettiest girl this side of sun-up,” he said, beaming with love and pride. “How’s that for a change, eh? Worth a kiss?”

She kissed him hurriedly and then left the room to attend to her duties in the kitchen, and he sauntered over to where The Orphan was talking with Mrs. Shields, his hand rubbing his lips and a mischievous twinkle in his kind eyes.

“Did you notice the new flower-bed right by the side of the house as you ran past it a while ago?” he asked, flashing a keen warning to his wife.

The Orphan searched his memory for the flower-bed and not finding it, turned and smiled, not willing to admit that his attention had been too fully taken up with a fairer flower than ever grew in earth.

“Why, yes, it is real pretty,” he replied. “What about it?”

“Oh, nothing much,” gravely replied the sheriff as he edged away. “Only we were thinking of putting a flower-bed there, although I haven’t had time to get at it yet.”

The Orphan flushed and glanced quickly at the outfit, who were too busy cracking jokes and laughing to pay any attention to the conversation across the room.

“James!” cried Mrs. Shields. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself!”

“When you tickle a mule,” said the sheriff, grinning at his friend, “you want to look out for the kick. Come again sometime, Sonny.”

“James!” his wife repeated, “how can you be so mean! Now, stop teasing and behave yourself!”

“For a long time I’ve been puzzled about what you resembled, but now I have your words for it,” easily countered The Orphan. “Thank you for putting me straight.”

The sheriff grinned sheepishly and scratched his head: “I’m an old fool,” he grumbled, and forthwith departed to tell Helen of the fencing.

Mrs. Shields excused herself and followed her husband into the kitchen to look after the dinner, and The Orphan sauntered over to his outfit just as Jim looked out of a rear window. Jim turned quickly, his face wearing a grin from ear to ear.

“Hey, Bud!” he called eagerly. “Bud!”

“What?” asked Bud, turning at the hail.

“Come over here for a minute, I want to show you something,” Jim replied, “but don’t let Humble come.”

Bud obeyed and looked: “Jimminee!” he exulted. “Don’t that look sumptious, though? This is where we shine, all right.” Then turned: “Hey, fellows, come over here and take a look.”

As they crowded around the window Humble discovered that something was in the wind and he followed them. What they saw was a long table beneath two trees, and it was covered with a white cloth and dressed for a feast. Bud turned quickly from the crowd and forcibly led Humble to a side window before that unfortunate had seen anything and told him to put his finger against the glass, which Humble finally did after an argument.

“Feel the pain?” Bud asked.

“Why, no,” Humble replied, looking critically at his finger. “What’s the matter with you, anyhow?”

“Nothing,” replied Bud. “Think it over, Humble,” he advised, turning away.

Humble again put his finger to the glass and then snorted:

“Locoed chump! Prosperity is making him nutty!” When he turned he saw his friends laughing silently at him and making grimaces, and a light suddenly broke in upon him.

“Yes, I did!” he cried. “That joke is so old I plumb forgot it years ago! Spring something that hasn’t got whiskers and a halting step, will you?”

Jim laughed and suggested a dance, but was promptly squelched.

“You heathen!” snorted Blake in mock horror. “This is Sunday! If you want to dance wait till you get back to the ranch–suppose one of the women was here and heard you say that!”

“Gee, I forgot all about it being Sunday,” replied Jim, quickly looking to see if any of the women were in the room. “We’re regular barbarians, ain’t we!” he exclaimed in self-condemnation and relief when he saw that no women were present. “We’re regular land pirates, ain’t we?”

“You’ll be asking to play poker yet, or have a race,” jabbed Humble with malice. “You ain’t got no sense and never did have any.”

“Huh!” retorted Jim belligerently, “I won’t try to learn a Chinee cook how to play poker and get skinned out of my pay, anyhow! Got enough?” he asked, “or shall I tell of the time you drifted into Sagetown and asked––”

“Shut up, you fool!” whispered Humble ferociously. “Yu’ll get skun if you say too much!”

“’Skun’ is real good,” retorted Jim. “Got any more of them new words to spring on us?”

Helen had been passing to and fro past the window and Docile Thomas here put his marveling into words, for he had been casting covert glances at her, but now his restraint broke.

“Gee whiz!” he exclaimed in a whisper to Jack Lawson. “Ain’t she a regular hummer, now! Lines like a thoroughbred, face like a dream and a smile what shore is a winner! See her hair–fine and dandy, eh? She’s in the two-forty class, all right!” he enthused. “Why, when this country wakes up to what’s in it the sheriff will have to put up a stockade around this house and mount guard. Everybody from Bill up will be stampeding this way to talk business with the sheriff. No wonder The Orphan has got a bee in his bonnet–lucky dog!”

“She can take care of my pay every month just as soon as she says the word,” Jack replied. “But suppose you look away once in a while? Suppose you shift your sights! You, too, Humble,” he said, suddenly turning on the latter.

“Me what?” asked Humble, without interest and without shifting his gaze. “What are you talking about?”

“Look at something else, see?”

“Shore I see,” replied Humble. “That’s why I’m looking. Do you think I look with my eyes shut! Gee, but ain’t she a picture, though!”

“She shore is, but give it a rest, take a vacation, you chump!” retorted Jack. “You’re staring at her like she had you hoodooed. Come out of your trance–wake up and make a fool of yourself some other way. Don’t aim all the time at her. Mebby Lee Lung has killed your dog!”

“If he has we’ll need a new cook,” replied Humble with decision.

“Come on, boys! Don’t start milling!” cried the sheriff, suddenly entering the room. “Dinner’s all ready and waiting for us. And I shore hope you have all got your best appetites with you, because Margaret likes to see her food taken care of lively. If you don’t clean it all up she’ll think you don’t like it,” he said, winking at Blake, “and if she once gets that notion in her head it will be no more invitations for the Star C.”

There was much excitement in the crowd, and the replies came fast.

“I ain’t had anything good to eat for fifteen long, aching years!” cried Bud. “When I get through you’ll need a new table.

“Same here, only for thirty years,” replied Jim hastily. “I just couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about the glorious surprise my abused stomach was due to have to-day. I’ll bet my gun on my performance if the track is heavy, all right. I’m not poor on speed, and I’m a stayer from Stayersville.”

“Well, I won’t be among the also rans, you can bet on that,” laughed Silent. “I don’t weigh very much, but I’m geared high.”

“I’ll bet it’s good!” cried Humble, “I’ll bet it’s real good!”

“D––n good, you mean!” corrected Jack. “Hey, fellows!” he cried, “did you hear what Humble said? He said that he’d bet it was real good!”

“Horray for Humble, the wit of the Star C,” laughed Docile.

“Me for the apricot pie!” exulted Charley. “Here’s where I get square on Blake for rubbing it in all these months about the fine pie he gets over here.”

“There ain’t no apricot pie,” gravely lied the sheriff in surprise.

“What!” cried Charley in alarm. “There ain’t none for me! Oh, well, you can’t lose me in daylight, for I’ll double up on everything else. I ain’t going to get left, all right!”

“Don’t wake me up,” begged Joe Haines. “Let me dream on in peace and plenty. Grub, real, genuine grub, grub what is grub! Oh, joy!”

Mrs. Shields hurried into the room and then paused in surprise when she saw that the outfit had not moved toward the feast.

“Land sakes!” she cried. “Aren’t you boys hungry, or is James up to some of his everlasting teasing again!”

“You talk to her, Bud,” whispered Jim eagerly. “I’m so scary I shore can’t.”

“Yes, go ahead, Bud!” came instant and unanimous endorsement in whispers.

“Well, ma’am,” began Bud, clearing his throat, glancing around uneasily to be sure that the crowd was giving him moral backing, and feeling uncomfortable, “we was just getting up a–a––”

“B, C, D,” prompted Jim in a whisper.

“We was just getting up a resolution of thanks, Mrs. Shields,” he continued, stabbing his elbow into the stomach of the offending Jim. “You shut up!” he fiercely whispered. “I’m carrying one hundred and forty pounds now without the saddle!” Then he continued: “We all of us are plumb tickled about this, so plumb tickled we don’t hardly know what to say––”

“That’s right,” whispered Jim, folding his arms across his stomach. “You’re proving it, all right.”

Silent and Jack hauled Jim to the rear and Bud continued unruffled: “But we want to thank you, ma’am, from the bottoms, the very lowest bottoms of our hearts for your kindness to a orphant outfit what ain’t had anything to eat since the war, and very little during it. Joe Haines, here, ma’am, was just saying as how he was a-scared that it is all a dream––”

“I didn’t neither!” fiercely contradicted Joe in a whisper, looking very self-conscious. He was whisked to the rear to join Jim and the speech went on.

“He is afraid it is a dream, ma’am, and I know we all of us have more or less doubts about it being really true. But, ma’am, we shore are anxious to find out all about it. We’ve rid thirty miles to see for ourselves, and I don’t reckon you’ll have any fears about our appetites being left at home when you sizes up the wreck left in the path of the storm after the stampede is over. The boys want to give you three cheers even if it is Sunday, ma’am, for your kindness to them, and I’m shore one of the boys!”

“Hip, hip, horray!” yelled the crowd, surging forward.

“Good boy, Bud!” they cried.

“I’m proud of you, Buddie!” exulted Charley, slapping him extra heartily on the back.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Bud!” cried Silent. “It was shore a dandy speech, all right.”

“We’ll send you to Congress for that, some day, Bud,” cried Jack Lawson. “You’re all right!”

sang Charley as he pranced toward the door.

“Good! Go on, Charley, go on!” cried his companions joyously.

“Again on that Lee Lung, altogether–it hits me right!” cried Bud, and the matter pertaining to the farewells to Lee Lung was promptly and properly attended to in heartfelt sincerity.

The ladies laughed with delight, and Mrs. Shields whispered to her husband, who nodded and escorted The Orphan to a seat near the head of the table, where he was flanked by Helen and Blake.

“Grab your partners, boys,” the sheriff cried, pointing to the chairs. There was a hasty piling of belts and guns on the ground, and after much confusion all were seated.

The sheriff arose: “Boys, Mrs. Shields wants me to tell you how pleased she is to have you all here. She has felt plumb sorry about you and she shore has shuddered at the thought of a Chinee cook––”

“Which same we all do–it’s chronic,” interposed Jim to laughter.

“She wants you to make yourselves at home,” continued the sheriff, “learn the lay of the land around this range and never forget the trail leading here, because she insists that when any of you come to town you have simply got to pay us a visit and see if there is a piece of pie or cake to eat before you go back to that cook. And Tom says that he’ll fire the first man who renigs––”

“I’m going to carry the mail hereafter!” cried Bud, scowling fiercely at Joe.

“Not if I can shoot first, you don’t!” retorted the mail carrier. “I was just a-wondering if it wouldn’t be better to come in twice a week for it instead of once. We might get more letters.”

“We’ll bid for your job next year,” laughed Silent.

“Before I coax you to eat,” continued the sheriff, “I––”

“Wrong word, Sheriff,” interposed Humble. “Not coax, but force.”

“I am going to ask you to reverse things a little, and drink a standing toast to the man who saved the stage, to the man who saved Miss Ritchie and my sisters and who made this dinner possible. This would be far from a happy day but for him. I want you to drink to the long life and happiness of The Orphan. All up!”

The clink of glasses was lost in the spontaneous cheer which burst from the lips of the former outlaw’s new friends, and he sat confused and embarrassed with a sudden timidity, his face crimson.

“Speech!” cried Jim, the others joining in the cry. “Speech! Speech!”

Finally, after some urging, The Orphan slowly arose to his feet, a foolish smile playing about his lips.

“It wasn’t anything,” he said deprecatingly. “You all would have done it, every one of you. But I’m glad it was me. I’m glad I was on hand, although it wasn’t anything to make all this fuss about,” and he dropped suddenly into his seat, feeling hot and uncomfortable.

“Well, we have different ideas about its being nothing,” replied the sheriff. “Now, boys, a toast to Bill Halloway,” he requested. “Bill couldn’t get here to-day, but we mustn’t forget him. His splendid grit and driving made it possible for our friend to play his hand so well.”

“Hurrah for Bill!” cried Silent, leaping to his feet with the others. When seated again he looked quickly at his glass and turned to Bud.

“Real sweet cider!” he exulted. “Good Lord, but how time gallops past! I’d almost forgotten what it was like! It’s been over twenty years since I tasted any! Ain’t it fine?”

“I was wondering what it was,” remarked Humble, a trace of awe in his voice as he refilled his glass. “It’s shore enough sweet cider, and blamed good, too!”

Charley was romping with the mail carrier and he had a sudden inspiration: “Speech from Joe! Speech for the pieces of pie and cake he’s due to get!”

“Now, look here, boy,” Joe gravely replied. “I’m the mail carrier. I don’t have to go on jury duty, lead religion round-ups, go to war or make speeches. As the books say, I’m exempt. All I have to do is punch cows, rustle the mail and eat pie and cake once a week,” he said, glancing at Bud, who glared and groaned.

“Good boy, Joe!” cried Humble, waving his glass excitedly. “You’re shore all right, you are, and I’m your deputy, ain’t I?”

“No, not my deputy, but my delirium,” corrected Joe.

“Glory be!” cried Silent as his plate was passed to him. “Chicken, real chicken! Mashed potatoes, mashed turnips and dressing and gravy! And here comes stewed corn, boiled onions and jelly and mother’s bread. And stewed tomatoes? Well, well! I guess we ain’t going to be well fed, and real happy, eh, fellows? My stomach won’t know what’s the matter–it’ll think it died and went to heaven by mistake. Holy smoke! It hurts my eyes. What, cranberry jam? Well, I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute if you don’t mind; I want to recuperate from the shock. This is where I live again!”

Humble stared in rapture at the feast before him and finally heaved a long drawn sigh of doubt and content.

“Gee!” he cried softly, a far-away look in his eyes. “Look at it, just look at it! Just like I used to get when I was a little tad back in Connecticut–but that was shore a long time ago. Well,” he exclaimed, bracing up and bravely forgetting his boyhood, “there’s one thing I hope, and that is that Lee beats my dog. Then I can shoot him and get square for all these years of imitation grub what he’s handed out to me!”

“Hey, Tom!” eagerly cried Charley, “why can’t we handle a herd of chickens out on the ranch, and have a garden? Why, we could have eggs every day and chickens on holidays!”

“No wonder Tom likes to ride to town,” laughed Silent. “Gee whiz, I’d walk it for pie and cake and real genuine coffee!”

“Walk it!” snorted Jim. “Huh, I’d crawl, and stand on my head, knock my feet together and crow every half mile! Walk it, huh!”

Merriment reigned supreme throughout the meal and when the bashfulness had worn off the conversation became fast and furious, abounding in terse wit, verbal attacks and clever counters, and in concentrated onslaughts against the unfortunate Humble, who soon found, however, a new and loyal champion in Miss Ritchie, who took his part. Her assistance was so doughty as to more than once put to rout his tormentors, and before the dessert had been reached he was her devoted slave and admirer and was henceforth to sing her praises at every opportunity, and even to make opportunities.

At The Orphan’s end of the table all was serene. He, Helen, Blake and the sheriff found much to talk about, and all the while Mrs. Shields regarded the four in a motherly way, and tempered the keenness of her husband’s wit, for he was prone to break lances with The Orphan and to tease his sister, much to her confusion. She was very happy, for here at her side were her husband and the man she had feared would harm him, laughing and joking and the best of friends; and down the table a crowd of big-hearted boys, her boys now, were having the time of their lives. They were good boys, too, she told herself; a trifle rough, but sterling at the heart, and every one of them a loyal friend. How good it was to see them eat and hear them laugh, all happy and mischievous. The welding of the units had been finished, and now the Star C and The Orphan were one in spirit.

CHAPTER XVIII
PREPARATION

With Helen his cup was full to overflowing, for he had managed to hold several long talks with her during the afternoon, and to his mind he had heard nothing detrimental to his hopes. His eyes had been opened as to what it was he had been hungering for, and the knowledge thrilled him to his finger-tips. He was a red-blooded, clean-limbed man, direct of words and purpose, reveling in a joyous, surging, vigorous health, in tune with his surroundings; he was dominant, fearless, and he had a saving grace in his humor. To him came visions of the future, golden as the sunrise, rich in promise and assurance as to a happiness such as he could only feebly feel. Himself he was sure of, for he feared no failure on his part; as far as he was concerned it was won. Helen, he believed from what the day had given him, would not refuse him when the time came for her to decide, and his effervescent spirits sent a song to his lips, which he hurled to the sky as a war-cry, a slogan of triumph and a defiance.

As yet he knew nothing of the sheriff’s plans, and his thoughts concerning his future position in the community did not dare to soar above that of foreman of some ranch. To this end he would bend his energies with all the power of his splendid trinity–heart, mind and body. He was far too happy to think of failure, because there would be none; had the word passed through his mind he would have laughed it into oblivion. His experience gave him confidence, for he was no weakling sheltered and protected by any guiding angel; to the contrary, he was the survivor of a bitter war against conditions which would have destroyed a less strong man; he was victor over himself and his enemies, a conqueror of adverse conditions, a hewer of his own path; his enemies had been his best friends, and his long fight, his salvation. For ten years he had constantly fought a bitter fight against nature and man; hunger and thirst, plots and ambushes had all played their parts, and he had won out over all of them. He was young, hopeful and unafraid, and now that he was on the right trail he would bend every energy to stay there, and he would stay there, be the opposition what it might; and if the opposition should be man, and of a strength dangerous to him, he would destroy it as he had destroyed others before it. While now scorning to use his gun on every provocation he would depend upon it as on a court of last resort–and its decision would be final.

He held ill wishes against no man save one, and that one was the man who had placed the rope about the neck of his father. He did not know that man’s name, and he did not know that he might not be among those who had already paid for that crime. But should he ever learn that he lived he would take payment in full be the cost what it might.

But he had no thoughts for strife, he only knew that the sun had never been so bright, the sky so blue and the plain so full of life and beauty as it was on this perfect day. Only one other day rivaled it–the day he had swayed weakly by the side of a dusty coach and had felt warm, soft fingers touching his forehead. But, he told himself with joy, there would be days to come which would eclipse even that.

He was aroused from his reverie by the approach of the foreman, who gave him a hearty hail and smiled at the happy expression on the puncher’s face.

“Well, you look like you had struck it rich!” cried Blake. “What is it, gold or silver?”

“Gold or silver!” cried The Orphan in contempt at such cheapness. “By God, Blake, I wouldn’t sell my claim for all the gold and silver in this fool earth! Gold or silver! Why, man, I know where there is plenty of both. Here,” he cried, plunging his hand into his chaps pocket, “look at this!”

The foreman looked and whistled and took the object into his hand, where he examined it critically. “By George, it’s the yellow metal, all right, and blamed near pure!” He returned it to its owner and added: “That’s the real stuff, Orphan.”

“Yes, it is,” replied the other as he pocketed the nugget. “And I know where it came from. There’s plenty left that’s just like it, but I wouldn’t go after it if it was diamonds.”

“You wouldn’t!” exclaimed Blake in surprise. “By George, I’d go to-morrow, to-night, if I knew. Gold like that ain’t to be sneered at. It spells ranches, ease, plenty, anything you want. And you wouldn’t go for it?”

“No, I wouldn’t, and I won’t,” replied the puncher. “I’m going to stay right here on this range and make good with my hands and brains. I’m going to win the game with the cards I hold, and when I say win I mean it. There are times when gold is a dangerous thing to have, and this is one of them, as you’ll understand when I disclose my hand. When I win I won’t need gold bad enough to go through hell and hot water for it and risk not getting back to my claim, and it’s one hundred to one that I wouldn’t get back, too. And if I lose, mind you, if, I won’t have any use for it. I picked that nugget up in the middle of the damnedest desert God ever made, and when I got off it I was loco for a week. I won’t tell any friend of mine where it is because I want my friends to go on drawing their breath. I need my friends a whole lot, and that’s why I don’t tell you where it is. I was saving that for my enemies. Two have gone after it already, and haven’t been heard of since.”

“Well, you are the first man who ever told me that gold isn’t worth going after, and you have convinced me that in your case you are right,” laughed the foreman.

“You wouldn’t have to be told if you knew that desert as I do,” replied The Orphan.

“How was the sheriff last night?” asked Blake. “Or didn’t you notice, being too much occupied in your claim?”

The Orphan looked at him and then laughed softly: “He was the same as ever–the best man I ever knew. But how in thunder do you know about my claim? How did you know what I meant? I thought that I had covered that trail pretty well.”

Blake put his hand on his friend’s shoulders and gravely looked at him: “Son, having eyes, I see; having ears, I hear; having brains, I think. If you have been fooling yourself that you are on a quiet trail, just listen to this: There ain’t a man who knows you well that don’t know what you’re playing for, even Bill had it all mapped out the second time he saw you. And most of us wish you luck. You’re not a man who needs help, but if you do need it, you know where to come for it.”

“Thank you, Blake,” replied The Orphan, eagerly filling his lungs with the crisp air. “That’s why I ain’t hankering for that gold–I’m too blamed busy making my own.”

“Well, what I wanted to speak to you about is this,” said the foreman, thinking quickly as to how to say it. “Old man Crawford got me to promise that I’d pick up a herd of cows for him before fall. Now, I would just as soon do it myself as not, but if you want to try your hand at it, go ahead. He wants about five thousand, to be delivered in five herds, a thousand each, at his corrals. He won’t pay any more than the regular price for them, and the more you can drop the price the better he will like it, of course. They must be good, healthy cattle and be delivered to him before payment is made. What do you say?”

“I say that it’s a go!” cried The Orphan. “I’ve had some great luck lately!” he exulted. “I’m ready to go after them whenever you say the word, to-night if you say so. And I’ll get the right number and kind or know the reason why. And I’ll take a hand in driving the last herd to him myself. Good Lord, what luck!”

Blake talked a while longer about the trip, giving necessary instructions about prices and where he would be likely to find the herd, and then rode off in the direction of Ford’s Station for a consultation with his friend, the sheriff.

“Hullo, Tom!” came from the stage office as he rode past. He quickly turned his head and then stopped, smiling broadly.

“Why, hullo, Bill,” he replied. “Glad to see you. How are things? Had any trouble lately?”

“Nope, times are real dull since that day in the defile,” Bill answered with a grin. “I saw Tex once at Sagetown, but he ain’t talking none these days, he’s too busy thinking. You see, I’ve got a purty strong combination backing me and nobody feels like starting it a-going, because there ain’t no telling just where it’ll stop. The Orphant and the sheriff make a blamed good team, all right.”

“None better at any game, Bill,” replied Blake. “And you used the right word, too. They’re going to pull together from now on, in fact, the Star C will be in harness with them.”

“That’s the way to talk!” cried Bill enthusiastically. “I always said that Orphant was a white man, even before I ever saw him,” he said, forgetting much that he might be in hearty accord. “He can call on me any time he needs me, you bet. He cheated the devil twice with me, and I ain’t a-going to forget it. But say, what do you think of the sheriff’s sister, Helen? Ain’t she a winner, hey? Finest girl these parts have ever seen, all right, and her friend ain’t second by no length, neither.”

“Why, Bill,” exclaimed Blake, a twinkle coming to his eyes, “you are not allowing yourself to get captured, are you? That’s a risky game, like starting up The Orphan and the sheriff, for there’s no telling just where it will stop.”

“No, I ain’t letting myself get captured,” sighed Bill. “I ain’t no fool. Bill Howland knows a thing or two, which he learned not more than a thousand years ago. I’ve got it all sized up. And since then I’ve seen a certain bang-up puncher hitting the trail for the sheriff’s house some regular twice a week. Nope, I’m a batchler now and forever, long may I wave.”

“Say,” he continued, suddenly remembering something. “What’s the sheriff up to now? Is he going to have a picnic out on Crawford’s ranch? He asked me if he could have the lend of the stage on an off day some time soon. Wants me to drive it for him out to the A-Y and back. I don’t know what his game is, and I don’t care none. I’ll do it, all right. But what’s he going to do out there, anyhow?”

Blake laughed: “Oh, nothing bad, I reckon. You’ll probably learn all about it as soon as the rest of us. How do you expect me to know anything about it? Mebby he is going to have a picnic out there for all we know. The A-Y is a good place for one, ain’t it?”

“You just bet it is,” cried Bill. “Your ranch is all right, Blake, but I like the A-Y better. It’s got windmills and everything. Finest grove near the ranch-house that I ever saw, and I’ve seen some fine groves in my time. Old man Crawford knew a good thing when he saw it, all right. Here comes Charley Winter like he had all day to go nowhere–he’s got a good job with the Cross Bar-8, but I wouldn’t have it for a gift–no, sir, money wouldn’t tempt me to be one of that outfit. But I reckon it’s some better out there than it once was since the sheriff and The Orphant amputated its inflamed fingers. Hullo, Charley,” he cried as the newcomer drew rein. “I was just telling Blake what a good job you have got with Sneed.”

“Hullo, you old one-hoss driver,” grinned Charley. “Hullo, Tom,” he cried. “Looking for the sheriff?”

“Hullo, Charley,” said the foreman, shaking hands with Sneed’s substitute puncher. “Yes, I am. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s out at the Cross Bar-8, giving Sneed a talking to,” Charley answered. “Bucknell went and got loaded again last night, raised h–l in town and out of it all the way home. He thought he wanted to shoot up The Orphan, so he was some primed. Jim is telling Sneed to hold him down to water and peace unless he wants to lose him. He’ll be in soon, though. How’s The Orphan getting on out at your place?”

“Fine!” answered Blake, his face wearing a frown. “But I’m some sorry about that fool Bucknell, though. He may get on a spree some day and find The Orphan. I don’t want any more gunplay, and if that idiot does find him and gets ambitious to notch up his gun another hole, there’ll shore be some loose lead. If he ever gets on Star C ground, and I catch him there, I’ll shore enough wipe up the earth with him, and when you see him, just tell him what I said, will you? It ain’t no joke, for I will.”

“Shore I’ll tell him,” replied Charley. “When will that bunch of cattle be on hand–I’m anxious to swap jobs.”

Blake flashed him a warning glance and tried to ignore the question by changing the subject, but it was too late, for Bill was curious.

“What cattle is that, Charley?” asked the driver in sudden interest.

“Oh, some cattle that I’m going to get of Blake for Sneed,” lied Charley easily.

“What in all get out does Sneed want with any Star C cows?” Bill asked in surprise. “He’s got plenty of cows of his own, unless The Orphant shot a whole lot more than I thought he did.”

“I don’t know, Bill,” replied Charley. “I didn’t ask him, it being plainly none of my business.”

Bill scratched his head: “No, I reckon not,” he replied doubtfully.

“Here comes Shields now,” said Blake suddenly. “I reckon I’ll ride off and meet him. So long, Bill.”

“So long,” replied Bill. “Be sure to tell The Orphan I was asking about him. So long, Charley.” He turned abruptly and entered the stage office: “I don’t understand it,” he muttered. “There’s something in the wind that I can’t get onto nohow. He has shore got me guessing some, all right.”

The clerk tossed aside the paper and stared: “Well, that’s too d––d bad, now ain’t it?” he asked sarcastically. “You ought to object, that’s what you ought to do! What right has anybody to keep quiet about their own business when you want to know, hey? If I wanted to know everybody’s business as bad as you do, I’d shore raise h–l, I would. Why don’t you choke it out of him, wipe up the earth with him? Go out right now and give him a piece of your mind.”

“Oh, you would, would you! You’re blamed smart, now ain’t you? You work too hard–your nerves are giving away,” drawled Bill as he picked up the paper. “Sitting around all day with your feet on the table and a pipe in your mouth that you’re too lazy to light, working like the very devil trying to find time to do the company’s business, which there ain’t none to do. Ain’t you ashamed to go to bed?–it must take a lot of gall to hunt your rest at night after finding it and hugging it all day. What would you do for a living if I forgot to bring the paper with me some day, hey? You ain’t got enough animation to want to know what is going on in this little world of ours, you––”

“You get out of here, right now, too!” yelled the clerk. “I don’t want you hanging around bothering me, you pest! Get out of here right now, before I get up and throw you out! Do you hear me!”

Bill crossed his legs, pushed back his sombrero, turned the page carefully and then remarked, “I licked four husky cow-punchers, real bad men, last month. One right after the other, and I was purty near all in, too.” He glanced at the next page disinterestedly, spat at a fly on the edge of the box cuspidor and then added wearily and with great deprecation, “I’m feeling fine to-day, never felt so good in my life, but I need more exercise–I’m two pounds over weight right now.”

The clerk showed interest and awe: “Weight?” he asked. “What is your fighting weight?”

Bill looked up aggressively: “Fighting weight?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “My fighting weight is something over nine hundred pounds, when I’m real mad. Ordinarily, one hundred and eighty. Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” replied the clerk, staring out of the window.