“Fer Gawd’s sake —lay off your hardware—Climb on.”

While they mounted stiffly, Brazos hauled the lasso in with his left hand and wound it around the pommel.

“Ride oot, you hombres. Yu go last, Bodkin. An’ when we hit the road yell for Segel an’ yore other man to go ahaid.”

When the riders emerged from the grove Bodkin bawled to the couple on guard with the dead man.

“Ride on, you fellers—an’ don’t look back!”

The wide, long main street of Las Animas was familiar to Brazos, despite the many new buildings. The place had doubled its population in five years.

Brazos’s roving gaze caught sight of a sign, ‘Mexican Joe. Hot Tamales’, and his heart leaped. If old Joe happened to come out now, there would be a recognition somewhat disconcerting to Bodkin and his posse. But Joe was not one of the many to see the strange procession ride down the street. Before half a block had been traversed, Brazos saw to his left a building and a sign that had not been there in his day. Both sheriff and jail had come to the cattle town.

“Turn in, yu-all, an’ set tight,” called Brazos.

Men were grouped about and out in front stood a tall bareheaded man in his shirt sleeves. He had a silver star on his black vest. He stood significantly sidewise toward the street, his right hand low. Brazos breasted the hitching-rail to see a broad, lined face, deep, piercing eyes, a thin-lipped, close-shut mouth, and bulging chin. Texas was written all over that visage.

“Air yu Kiskadden?” queried Brazos.

“That’s me,” came the curt reply.

“Did Inskip give yu a hunch aboot this?”

“He told me you’d be likely to ride in, but I’m bound to admit I didn’t expect you.”

“Sheriff, will yu give me a square deal?”

“You can rest assured of thet, cowboy, I’m the law heah.”

“My Gawd, but it’s a relief to pass these over. Heah!” burst out Brazos, and with a dexterous flip of the guns, he turned them in the air to catch them by the barrels and hand them to the sheriff. “Sheriff, I shore haven’t had many deals where I was more justified in throwin’ guns than in this one. But Inskip whispered for me not to shoot unless I had to. So I bluffed yore deputy an’ his posse.”

“Who air you, cowboy?” queried Kiskadden searchingly.

“Thet’ll have to come oot, I reckon,” returned Brazos. “I haven’t been in Las Animas for six years. But there’ll be men heah who’ll vouch for me.”

“Ail right. Get down. Bodkin, you look bustin’ with yore side of this story. Mebbe you’d better hold in—”

“Aw, hell!” interrupted the deputy. “Wait till you hear my side. He’s a slick-tongued feller. I’ll gamble he turns out to be a range-ridin’ desperado. An’ it’s a thousand to one thet he murdered young Neece.”

“Neece! Not Abe Neece’s boy?” exclaimed Kiskadden.

“Yes. Young Allen Neece.”

“Aw, too bad—too bad!” rejoined the sheriff in profound regret. “As if poor Abe had not had enough trouble!”

“Boss, it’ll sure go hard with Allen’s twin sisters. Them gurls thought the world of him.”

“Fetch Neece in,” ended Kiskadden, and, taking Brazos’s arm, he led him into the office.

“An’ see here, Sheriff,” spoke up Brazos. “Will yu have my hawss taken-good care of? An’ Bodkin took my gun, watch, penknife—an’ a personal letter.”

“Cowboy, I’ll be responsible for your hawss an’ your belongs.”

“Thanks.