First he called up Roosevelt, to learn that the stage was ahead of time and had left there two hours earlier. Next he telephoned to Packard, a post office and gasoline station on the Globe road. His call was answered by Abe Hazelitt, a young fellow he had known for years.

“Hello, Abe. This’s Cal—Cal Thurman—talkin’. How are you?”

“Howdy, Cal,” came the reply, in Abe’s high-pitched drawl. “Wal, I was shore fine jest lately, but now I’m dinged if I know whether I’m ridin’ or walkin’.”

“What’s the matter, Abe?” asked Cal.

“Cal, I’m gosh-durned if I know. But the stage jest rolled in—an’ somethin’s happened.”

“Stage? Ahuh!” replied Cal, with quickening of interest. “That’s what I wanted to know about. On time, huh?”

“Way ahead of time. We all near dropped dead. Jake’s drivin’ like hell today, I’ll tell the world.”

“Jake drivin’ fast?” echoed Cal. “Sure that’s funny. What’s got into him?”

“Reckon it’s the same as what’s got into me, Cal.”

“Aw, you’re loco. Abe, is there a lady passenger on the stage?”

Cal heard his friend chuckle at the other end of the wire, and then hesitate before replying. “Cal, listen to me whisper. . . . Yes, I should smile.”

“That’s good. She is a sister of our schoolteacher, Miss Stockwell. I’ve been sent to meet her here an’ take her out home. Abe, please tell her that Cal Thurman is waitin’ at Ryson.”

A long low whistle came over the wire. Then: “My Gawd! the luck of some fellars!”

“Luck? Say, Abe, have any of the boys phoned you—Wess or Tim or Pan Handle?” queried Cal, suspiciously.

“Nary one, Cal. You’ll have her all to yourself. An’ believe me—”

“Cut it out,” almost yelled Cal. “I know what you mean by luck. Somebody had to meet her, an’ that lowdown outfit at Green Valley just quit barefaced when they saw her picture.”

“They did! Wal, I’ll be dinged! Say, Cal, mebbe you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

“Say, yourself!” retorted Cal, testily. “You talk sort of queer, Abe. I’ll ring off now, before you make me sore. You’ll tell the lady, please?”

“I shore will.