The

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quit the Rockin'-R to go railroadin' or somethin', an' sold his outfit, saddle an' all. I reckon they'll suit."

      Stepping behind the counter, he poked around amongst a mass of miscellaneous merchandise and finally drew forth a pair of much-worn leather chaps, high-heeled boots almost new, and a cartridge-belt from which dangled an empty holster.

      "There yuh are," he said triumphantly, spreading them out on the counter. "Gun's the only thing missin'. He kep' that, but likely yuh got one of yore own. Saddle's hangin' out in the stable."

      Without delay Stratton took off his coat and vest and sat down on an empty box to try the boots, which proved a trifle large but still wearable. He already had on a dark flannel shirt and a new Stetson, which he had bought in New York; and when he pulled on the chaps and buckled the cartridge-belt around his slim waist Pop Daggett surveyed him with distinct approval.

      "All yuh need is a good coat uh tan to look like the genuine article," he remarked. "How come yuh to be so white?"

      "Haven't been out of the hospital long enough to get browned up." Buck opened his bag and, fumbling for a moment, produced a forty-five army automatic. "This don't go very well with the outfit," he shrugged. "Happen to have a regular six-gun around the place you'll sell me?"

      Pop had, this being part of his stock in trade. Buck looked the lot over carefully, finally picking out a thirty-eight Colt with a good heft. When he had paid for this and a supply of ammunition, Pop led the way out to a shed back of the store and pointed out a Fraser saddle, worn but in excellent condition, hanging from a hook.

      "It's a wonder to me any cow-man is ever fool enough to sell his saddle," commented Stratton as he took it down. "They never get much for 'em, and new ones are so darn ornery to break in."

      "Yuh said it," agreed Daggett. "I'd ruther buy one second-hand than new any day. There's the bridle. Yuh take that roan in the near stall. He ain't much to look at, but he'll travel all day."

      Fifteen minutes later the roan, saddled and bridled, pawed the dust beside the hitching rack in front of the store, while Buck Stratton made a small bundle of his coat, vest, and a few necessaries from his bag and fastened it behind the saddle. The remainder of his belongings had been left with Pop Daggett, who lounged in the doorway fingering a roll of bills in his trousers pocket and watching his new acquaintance with smiling amiability.

      "Well, I'll be going," said Stratton, tying the last knot securely. "I'll bring your cayuse back to-morrow or the day after at the latest."

      Pop looked surprised. "The day after?" he repeated. "What's goin' to keep yuh that long?"

      "Will you be needing the horse sooner?"

      "No, I dunno's I will. But seems like yuh ought to be back by noon to-morrow. It ain't more 'n eighteen miles." He straightened abruptly and his blue eyes widened. "Say, young feller! Yuh ain't thinkin' of gettin a job out there, are yuh?"

      Stratton hesitated for an instant. "Well, I don't know," he shrugged presently. "I've got to get to work right soon at something."

      Daggett took a swift step or two across the sagging porch, his face grown oddly serious. "Wal, I wouldn't try the Shoe-Bar, nohow. There's the Rockin'-R. They're short a man or two. Yuh go see Jim Tenny an' tell him--"

      "What's the matter with the Shoe-Bar?" persisted Buck.

      Pop's glance avoided Stratton's. "Yuh--wouldn't like it," he mumbled, glancing down the trail. "It--it ain't like it was in Joe's time. That there Tex Lynch--he--he don't get on with the boys."

      "Who's he? The foreman?"

      "Yeah. Beauty Lynch, some calls him 'count uh his looks. I ain't denyin' he's han'some, with them black eyes an' red cheeks uh his, but somethin' queer--Like I said, there ain't nobody stays long at the Shoe-Bar. Yuh take my advice, Buck, an' try the Rockin'-R. They's a nice bunch there."

      Buck swung himself easily into the saddle; "I'll think about it," he smiled, gathering up the reins. "Well, so-long; see you in a day or so, anyway. Thanks for helping me out, old-timer."

      He loosened the reins, and the roan took the trail at a canter. Well beyond the last adobe house, Stratton glanced back to see old Pop Daggett still standing on the store porch and staring after him. Buck flung up one arm in a careless gesture of farewell; then a gentle downward slope in the prairie carried him out of sight of the little settlement.

      "Acts to me like he was holding back something," he thought as he rode briskly on through the wide, rolling solitudes. "Now, I wonder what sort of a guy is this Tex Lynch, and what's going on at the Shoe-Bar that an old he-gossip like Pop Daggett is afraid to talk about?"

      CHAPTER III

      MISTRESS MARY--QUITE CONTRARY

      But Stratton's mind was too full of the amazing information he had gleaned from the old storekeeper to leave much room for minor reflections. He had been stunned at first--so completely floored that anyone save the garrulous old man intent on making the most of his shop-worn story could not have helped seeing that something was seriously wrong. Then anger came--a hot, raging fury against the authors of this barefaced, impudent attempt at swindle. From motives of policy he had done his best to conceal that, too, from Pop Daggett; but now that he was alone it surged up again within him, dyeing his face a deep crimson and etching hard lines on his forehead and about his straight-lipped mouth.

      "Thought they'd put it over easy," he growled behind set teeth, one clenched, gloved hand thumping the saddle-horn. "Saw the notice in the papers, of course, and decided it would be a cinch to rob a dead man. Well, there's a surprise coming to somebody that'll make mine look like thirty cents."

      His lips relaxed in a grim smile, which presently merged into an expression of puzzled wonder. Thorne, of all people, to try and put across a crooked deal like this! Stratton had never known the man really intimately, but during the several years of their business relationship the Chicago lawyer struck him as being scrupulously honest and upright. Indeed, when Buck came to enlist, it seemed a perfectly safe and natural thing to leave his deeds and other important papers in Andrew Thorne's keeping.

      "Shows how you can be fooled in a man," murmured Stratton, as he followed the trail down into a shallow draw. "I sure played into his hands nice. He had the deeds and everything, and it would be simple enough to fake a transfer when he thought I was dead and knew I hadn't any kin to make trouble. I wonder what the daughter's like. A holy terror, I'll bet, and tarred with the same brush. Well, she'll get hers in about two hours' time, and get it good."

      The grim smile flickered again on his lips for a moment, to vanish as he saw the head and shoulders of a horseman appear over the further edge of the draw. An instant later the bulk of a big sorrel flashed into view and thudded toward him.

      On the open range men usually stop for a word or two when they meet, but this one did not. As he approached Stratton at a rapid speed there was a brief, involuntary movement as if he meant to pull up and then changed his mind. The next moment he had whirled past with a careless, negligent gesture of one hand and a keen, penetrating, questioning stare from a pair of hard black eyes.

      Buck glanced over one shoulder at the flying dust-cloud and pursed his lips.

      "Wonder if that's the mysterious Tex?" he pondered, urging his horse forward. "Black eyes and red cheeks, all right. He's a good looking scoundrel--too darn good looking for a man. All the same, I can't say it was a case of love at first sight."

      Unconsciously his right hand dropped to the holster at his side, the fingers caressing for an instant the butt of his Colt. He had set out on his errand of exposure with an angry impulsiveness which gave no thought to details or possibilities. But in some subtle fashion that searching glance from the passing stranger brought him up with a little mental jerk. For the first time he remembered that he was playing a lone hand, that the very nature of his business was likely to rouse the most desperate and unscrupulous opposition. Considering the value of the stake and the penalties involved, the present occupant of the Shoe-Bar was likely to use every means in her power to prevent his accusations from becoming public. If the fellow who had just passed really was Tex Lynch, Buck had a strong intuition that

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