The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1935-06-14

dcrOSS the Oar Hulk range. rOT Luc
present he had to admit that he was
sure of nothing more. He closed mis-
mind to the puzzle, and tried to browse.
But presently he found himself
reused sharply to new wakefulness.
For some moments he lay listening in
tently, unable to decide what was
wrong. Then there came to his ears
the slip of cold wood on wood. He
knew at once that someone's hand had
fumbled in an effort to take down the
bars Of a gate in silence.
Kentucky Jones stepped to the open
window. Against the clean sparkle Of
the snow all snowless objects stood out
in etched relief Near the down-coun-
try trail horse and rider appeared, to
disappear at once behind the stone
his breath. He had been unable to
recognize the rider, but the horse he
knew-a tall black with long white
stocking on the off fore leg. 1t was
the horse Joe st. Marie had ridden that
day.
ACuIuChy jules EcLuIucu " AlS OAehh
kets with his nerves on a peculiar edge.
He rolled a cigarette, and thought Of
Joe st. Marie.
The crack bronze rider was man
of peculiarly mixed type. Almost no
trace Of accent or cultural came into
his speech. st. Marie was unusual in
that he made no effort to conceal the
dark strain in his blood. The big steel
conchos on his five-inch belt and the
silver work Of his spurs and bit were
barbarian touches hardly ever seen In
the Wolf Bench rimrock any more.
So little further insight into this man
was afforded by better acquaintance
that many must have supposed that
this was all there was to know about
Joe st. Marie. But Kentucky was not
self sufficient, he thought, to be so
easily known.
He was able to fix upon one imme-
date probability. If Joe st. Marie had
gone out, he would presently return.
Had he meant to jump the range he
could have used any number of sub
terfuges for giving himself long start
before his absence was noted. st.
Marie would be back that night; ard,
since he had not bothered to pick a
fresh horse, he probably did not mean
to be long gone. Kentucky dressed,
and propped himself up in the corner
of his bunk to watch the pump house
trail.
An hour passed; more than an hour.
Looking at his watch he was aston
ished to learn that it was only quarter
past eleven o'clock. Sometime he had
dozed, but he was certain that he would
have heard st. Marie's horse If 1t had
come in. He smoked again, and wait
ed ten minutes more.
Upon the snow, a spot appeared. 1t
pulled up, shifted and separated, and
he saw that it was not one horse but
two, and the watcher made out that
the second horse appeared to be a
pinto, for he could not see the ami
malls fore legs, and thus knew that
they must be white. Suddenly he knew
that he was looking at the pinto horse
Of Bob Elliot.
Kentucky Jones spat through his
teeth, and anger rose into his head like
a rising wind. Here was something
definite and conclusive, upon which a
man could lay his hands. The Bar
Hook rider, whom he was now GER
tain was Joe st. Marie, had ridden out
to confer with the boss of the 8S. He
promised himself that within five min
utes he would know exactly what that
exclusive saddle conference meant.
The pinto horse now turned, going
back the way it had come; and the
other rider, coming on, was lost to view
again in the dip Of the ground.
Kentucky Jones took up the long
barreled Colt which had so seldom
emerged from the bottom Of his war
bag, stepped through the window, and
ran to the corner of the house. Against
the far corral stood a stable shed Of
peeled logs To this he made his way,
keeping it between himself and the
trail. Within the long shed, across one
end, was fixed horizontal log, used as
a saddle rack he knew the rider would
return his saddle here. Beside 1t, in
black shadow, he took his post.
1t seemed to him that the night was
silent for long time before finally he
heard again, close at hand, the small
crunching complaint Of the snow under
the hoofs Of a walking horse.
Flattening himself against the wall
he could see neither horse nor rider
as the pony was led close to the stable
shelter. The animal was still out of
his angle of vision as he heard the
rider drag the saddle off, not three
yards from where he stood.
Then close beside him the rider ap-
peared, and for a moment was a sill
houette against the snow; a figure
made shapeless by the shouldered sad
die.
Within the stable he could see moth
ing at all, though the other eased the
saddle upon the rack so close at hand
that a swinging stirrup struck his
knee. So little space separated them
that he could hear the rider breathe,